Somewhere, Anywhere
by April7739
Summary: Two years have passed since the events of Someone, Anyone. Michael Guerin and his friends, lovers, and enemies are living out a new chapter of their lives in a new town with new faces. But with the past not far behind and the future straight ahead, where will Michael's life take him? And who will he be when he gets there? (NOTE: You must read Someone, Anyone before this sequel.)
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Somewhere, Anywhere**

 **Author: April**

 **Disclaimer:** _ **Roswell**_ **and its characters are the property of Jason Katims and 20** **th** **Century Fox. No copyright infringement intended. Don't sue me for writing about them; I have nothing but student loans anyway.**

 **Summary: Two years have passed since the events of** _ **Someone, Anyone.**_ **Michael Guerin and his friends, lovers, and enemies are living out a new chapter of their lives in a new town with new faces. But with the past not far behind and the future straight ahead, where will Michael's life take him? And who will he be when he gets there?**

 **Category: Michael and Maria AU without aliens (other CC pairings and some UC pairings included, but not likely to be Alien Abyss material.)**

 **Rating: Extremely Mature**

 **Author's Note: It's so odd that, right as I was beginning to write** _ **Someone, Anyone,**_ **I knew I would be writing a sequel. (If you have not read the original story in this series,** _ **Someone, Anyone**_ **, you need to read that story first for this story to make sense to you.) That story naturally plotted itself out in the dusty corners of my brain, and I bore the ending in mind the whole time. With that in mind, I also always had an idea for what this sequel would encompass. It will get intense, it will frustrate you, and it might surprise you. I hope you all enjoy the ride.**

 **Author's Note 2: For the purposes of this story, NM State at Carlsbad is a 4-year college.**

...

 _Prologue_

 _You ever heard of Pistol Pete? Didn't think so._

 _He's my mascot. Inspired by a real cowboy, apparently, some hick named Frank Eaton who loved guns and shooting people with them. What a wholesome inspiration, huh?_

 _Well . . . I guess he's not so bad. The guy was pretty much beast mode, never missed a shot. Maybe that's why crimson is one of our school colors, because he spilled a lot of crimson blood in his day._

 _Like most guys who act all strong and tough, though, Pistol Pete had a soft side. See, he had a girlfriend who gave him a cross once, one that he wore around his neck. Legend has it that damn cross saved his life when it deflected a bullet during a gunfight, and that prompted him to say, "I'd rather have the prayers of a good woman in a fight than half a dozen hot guns."_

 _Well, he must have found a good woman, 'cause the dude had, like, eight kids._

 _So anyway, I go to a college represented by a violent cowboy. I wasn't crazy about that at first, because cowboys have kind of gotten a bad rap lately._ Brokeback Mountain _, anyone? The NFL team that always manages to disappoint? But after a while, I got used to it, and nowadays, it doesn't really bother me that much. Sure, we may be called the Aggies, but deep down, we're all what Pistol Pete represents: cowboys. We're reckless, wild, but trying to be responsible. We're fighters, out to prove we can survive on our own. We act on impulse and sometimes leave a mess behind, but at the end of the day, everyone's still fascinated by us._

 _But let's face it: When you get right down to it, the most intriguing thing about a cowboy isn't his gun, or his hat or his horse or anything like that. It's not how many bodies he racks up or how many bullets he unloads from his chamber._

 _It's his ambiguity. You never know if he's the hero or the villain._

 _Sometimes I wonder who I am._

...

These morning strolls across campus were actually pretty relaxing. Not as relaxing as lying in bed, continuing to sleep, of course, which was obviously what Michael Guerin would have preferred to be doing. But if he had to get up and go to class, 9:15 wasn't a bad time to do it. The sidewalks weren't very crowded yet, the weather wasn't too hot . . . and it helped that he didn't mind the class he was going to.

He readjusted his backpack on his shoulders as he stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for cars to round the corner. When there was a break in the traffic, he and a few others walked across the street, already on the other side when the signal changed from the red hand to the stick figure person.

A few people waved at him or said hey as he walked by, so he gave them a head nod back to acknowledge them. No one stopped to talk to him today, though, so that made the walk a quick one. He got to Burnett Hall a lot sooner than he needed to, so he opted to go into the Student Union instead to grab a coffee.

While he was waiting in line, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, so he took it out and glanced down at the screen, smiling when he saw who his text was from. _Crazy Girl._ She hated that he had her identified in his phone that way, but secretly, he knew she enjoyed it.

 _have a good day!_ the text read. _love you!_

He grinned. Well, it was easy to have a good day when she started it off like that for him. He moved forward in the line, quickly texting back, _love you too_.

Maybe it was the coffee, or maybe just the fact that he'd gotten a good night's sleep and everyone else hadn't, but Michael felt like he was the only one who even looked alive in Social Psychology that day. The girl beside him was yawning, and the guy sitting in front of him had nodded off at the beginning of Professor Barnaby's lecture. Michael resisted the urge to hit him on the head with his laptop and instead focused on typing up the notes projected on the board.

"Now let's recap," Professor Barnaby said with his usual enthusiasm, "according to Freud, the id is based on what?"

Michael raised his hand into the air, waiting to be called on.

Professor Barnaby scanned the room for a moment, then, like usual, motioned to Michael.

"The pleasure principle," Michael responded.

"That's exactly right, Mr. Guerin. Always nice to know someone's done the reading."

Michael smirked, knowing the rest of these people probably hated him for being the obvious favorite.

The professor clicked a button on the laser pointer to advance his notes to a slide that displayed a picture of Homer Simpson with a cartoon angel on one shoulder and a cartoon devil on the other. "The id wants what it wants when it wants it," Professor Barnaby continued on, using the laser to make circles around the devil. "It cares not about the needs of anyone else, but rather its own personal satisfaction."

Michael's fingers typed furiously, even though he already knew the information.

Professor Barnaby clicked ahead to the next slide, where a cartoon caveman was envisioning a hamburger, a bed, and a Jessica Rabbit, each in separate thought bubbles above his head. "Food, comfort, sex . . . these are all things the id craves. It has no logic, no reason. To the id, nothing else matters."

Keeping his eyes focused on the PowerPoint, Michael typed his professor's exact words: _Nothing else matters._

Since he had a break in between classes, he headed out to Plaza Verde, the grassy clearing near the student union and outside the honors hall, where he had a feeling some of his friends would be hanging out. And of course they were. Fly was chasing after a Frisbee like an excited puppy, and Steve was even talking to him like one when he joked, "Alright, good boy! Now bring it back!"

Michael set his backpack down next to theirs, sauntering up to Steve. "Hey, man," he greeted.

"Hey," Steve returned. "You bring your football?"

"Nah, I forgot it."

"Don't need a football!" Fly exclaimed as he trotted back with the plastic disc in hand. "Frisbee's better."

"Alright, go long, man," Michael told him, seizing it from him.

Literally panting like a dog, Fly darted off across the green again. Michael bent, twisted, and then rocketed his right arm out, chucking it as far as he could. It soared towards Fly, but Fly was uncoordinated, so he tripped over his own feet and fell as he was running for it.

Steve chuckled.

"Man, what a spaz," Michael remarked, getting a kick out of how his friend popped right back up assured two hot girls walking by, "I meant to do that." And then he licked his lips as they rolled their eyes at him, and he boasted, "Es muy grande!" as he gestured to his crotch. That only made the girls scamper away faster.

"So how's Cheryl?" Michael asked his other, saner friend.

"Ah, she's alright," Steve replied, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Says third trimester's pretty rough, though."

"Yeah? Which one was the roughest for you?"

"First." Steve grimaced. "The morning sickness . . ."

"Oh, yeah." He imagined the only thing worse than holding your girl's hair back while she puked her guts out every morning was . . . well, being the girl.

"Yo, Mike!" Fly called as he scampered back with his new toy in hand. "You goin' to the game Saturday?"

"Of course." Aggie football. Where else would he be?

Fly tossed the Frisbee to him lightly, bragging, "I'm gonna be the mascot."

"Wait, I thought your cousin was the mascot."

"Yeah, man, he is, but he got mono or somethin', so I'm fillin' in."

"Huh." The entire game spent in a sweaty costume? Didn't exactly sound like the greatest time to Michael, but then again, Fly was fucking weird. He liked things normal people didn't.

"Man, you get paid for that shit, you know?" Fly revealed. "A lot better than what I make at Taco Bell."

"Well, I'll try to make it, too," Steve said, "but it might depend on how Cheryl's feelin'."

"Man, I don't know how you's two does this steady girl thing," Fly said, shuddering exaggeratedly as though the mere thought of being in a committed relationship scared him.

"Oh, it's pretty easy," Steve said, "you know, since she's my wife and all, carrying my child."

"Yeah, whatever," Fly dismissed. "Hey, what about Kyle? You think he'd go?"

Michael shrugged, doubting it, but it was worth a shot. "I don't know."

"You should try to get him to go," Steve urged. "It'd be good for him."

"Yeah." It really would be.

"Monk's goin'," Fly said. "Gonna bring his girlfriend."

Michael's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Monk has a girlfriend?" How the hell had that happened?

...

Michael met up with Monk at work that afternoon. They were both on duty at Haymsworth Hall, working the front desk, and as usual, there wasn't much work to be done, so they mainly got to just sit there and talk while people shuffled in and out of the building, going to and coming back from class.

"Hell, yeah, man, I got a girlfriend," Monk claimed, his voice never changing tone, his facial expression never altering. "You don't believe me?"

"Not until I see proof."

"Well, screw you, man. I'll show you proof. I got proof right here." Monk took out his phone and navigated to a picture of a hot blonde woman, looked to be late twenties or early thirties. Fake boobs, lots of makeup, and an ass that you wanted to reach right through the screen to squeeze.

"Monk, she's hot!" Michael exclaimed, impressed.

"Well, if that's what she really looks like," Monk acknowledged. "I haven't met her face to face."

"Oh." Of course someone as into technology as Monk would meet a girl online. "So she could actually be a hundred pounds heavier and have, like, webbed feet?"

"She could."

"Deal-breaker?"

"No, I could deal with the hundred pounds, but the webbed feet might be too much."

"What if she's a guy?" Michael speculated.

"Well . . ." Monk shrugged, putting his phone away. "As long as she's had the surgery, we'll be fine."

Michael chuckled. Because he knew Monk and understood his deadpan sense of humor, he knew he was just kidding. Probably. Monk had Asperger's syndrome, which basically meant he was a brilliant guy with a dash of autism. Sometimes his social awkwardness and tendency to speak in a monotone made it hard to tell when he was being sarcastic or not.

"Man, I think she's the one," Monk declared. "You know that feeling you get when you know?"

"Oh, yeah." He knew that feeling well.

"That's the feeling I got, man. I always figured I'd meet the love of my life in a Dungeons and Dragons chatroom."

"Oh. That sounds . . ." Michael laughed inwardly. "Perfect." Perfect for Monk, anyway. He definitely had his interests and quirks, and if this girl was interested in the same thing, chances were she had a lot of the same quirks. Maybe they were a match made in heaven. They could be quirky together.

Michael looked up at the clock, leaning back in his chair and sighing. He hated these afternoon shifts. They always went by so slowly. The nighttime ones were fun because you never knew who was going to stagger in drunk. "Man, this is gonna be a long day," he complained.

"Yeah," Monk agreed. "We could probably reorganize the key cabinet or something."

"Yeah," Michael agreed, thinking that sounded horrible. "Or . . ."

A few minutes later, they were rolling their chairs past the elevators, whooping, hollering, and taunting each other as they raced towards the computer lab. Chair-race was a common game they played. Sometimes working for the housing department meant you had to make your own fun.

...

 _miss you right now_ , the latest text message read. Michael texted his girlfriend back with one hand as he neared the front door to his best friend's house, _be home soon._ This was her free day of the week, no class and no work, so she usually got bored without him and always was so eager for him to get home. He loved that he could put a smile on her face just by walking through the door.

That was going to have to wait a little bit longer, though, because there was something he had to do first.

It wasn't really necessary to knock at Tess and Kyle's place, so he just let himself in. "Hey, guys," he called, immediately surveying the situation. Kyle was sitting on the couch again, remote control in his hand.

"Hey, Michael," Tess said, halfway glancing over her shoulder. She was just off the living room in their tiny kitchen, washing a mountain of dishes. The oversized plaid shirt she was wearing was wet, and her hair was falling out of its ponytail.

Michael set his backpack down, his eyes on Kyle as he headed into the kitchen. "Good day or bad day?" he asked Tess quietly, though it was pretty obvious. Kyle was watching the same old football game again, the one he'd already watched hundreds of times before. He was wearing the same ratty Comets t-shirt he'd worn back during their senior year of high school, but it was too tight now.

" _Bad_ day," Tess replied emphatically but softly. "He's been sitting there since he got up."

Michael sighed, watching his best friend for a few seconds. It didn't matter how long Kyle was like this, he'd never get used to seeing him this way. The weight gain was one thing. It wasn't drastic yet, but Kyle was definitely nowhere near as fit as he'd been two years ago. The beard was another thing. It was starting to look like birds could live in there. But the eeriness of getting no response out of him at all . . . that was the hardest part of New Kyle to adjust to.

"Well, here," he said, setting a sack with two Subway sandwiches down on the counter. "Brought you dinner."

She looked up at him momentarily, smiling gratefully. "Thanks," she said.

"No problem." There was a guy who worked at Subway who always gave him a discount, probably because he had a crush on him, but maybe just because Michael had helped him study for a statistics test last year. Whatever the reason, Michael wasn't questioning it. He saved a lot on Subway sandwiches.

"You could go try to talk to him," Tess suggested. "Sometimes you have more luck with him than I do."

"Yeah, sometimes," he muttered. But other times, Kyle was just as despondent with him as he was with her.

He headed into the living room, sitting down on the arm of the couch, glancing at the screen momentarily. End of the third quarter in that game. 49-3. That would be the final score.

"Hey, man," Michael greeted his friend, wishing he could just stand in front of that TV screen. But he'd tried that once, and all it had done was piss Kyle off.

"Hey," Kyle returned, never looking away, not even when the timeout was called.

"Startin' No-Shave November a couple months early, huh?" Michael joked. Kyle's face was starting to look like a forest.

He didn't laugh.

 _Okay, new tactic,_ Michael thought, trying to think of something that might catch his attention, might distract him in some way. "So guess what? Monk has a girlfriend."

Kyle did glance up from the TV, but only momentarily. "A real one?"

"Yeah. Well, actually, we don't know. He met her online, but he hasn't met her in person yet, so . . . she could be a dude."

"Probably is," Kyle mumbled. He lifted the remote, aimed it at the DVD player, and started to fast-forward through the commercials.

"He's gonna bring her to the game Saturday night," Michael segued, hoping that Kyle would get the hint. But if he did, he didn't acknowledge it, so Michael had to outright ask, "You wanna go to that?"

Kyle shrugged, pressing play at the exact right time. "Not really."

Michael nodded disappointedly, having expected as much. Kyle hadn't been out and about for weeks now. And apparently today, judging by how he smelled, he hadn't even been in the shower.

Knowing that pushing tended to make it worse, Michael reluctantly accepted his friend's response. "Alright," he said, getting to his feet. He looked in the kitchen at Tess again, noticing that she had stopped washing the dishes now, and she was just standing there, bent forward, holding onto the side of the sink with both hands.

Bad day for her, too. Her days weren't good anymore unless Kyle's were, and his good days were few and far between.

"Do you wanna go for a walk?" Michael offered, spinning back around. "We haven't gone on one for a while."

"Uh, no," Kyle replied simply. "Not right now."

Michael sighed. Of course not. He was just _so_ busy sitting there like a beached whale. "You sure?" he pressed.

"Yeah," Kyle mumbled, "I can't."

Oh, Michael hated hearing his friend say that word.

...

 _Gasping for air, Michael stopped at the top of the hill, bending forward, bracing his hands on his knees. "I can't," he panted, sweat dripping down his forehead._

 _Kyle's feet never stopped moving as he trotted slowly backward. "You know what? Every time I hear you say that word, we're runnin' another mile."_

 _Michael groaned, standing up straighter, trying to work past the ache he was feeling in each and every limb. "I didn't work out all summer," he lamented. "I'm outta shape."_

 _Of course, Kyle wasn't fazed. "Well, we gotta get you back_ in _shape if you wanna make this team," pointing to the Alabama logo on his t-shirt. "Come on." He turned and started jogging again._

 _Groaning, grimacing, Michael slowly followed after him. Three miles down. Only three more to go._

...

Michael headed back into the kitchen to say goodbye to Tess, maybe help her finish up those dishes. While they were doing that, Kyle would continue sitting on that couch, watching the fourth quarter of that football game. Again.

...

The Vidorra suites were the best place to live on campus. They weren't as spacious as the other apartments, but they were the only apartments where you could legitimately live with someone of the opposite gender. It basically felt like living off campus in your own place, except you were still on campus and close to everything. It was Michael's second year in the suites now, so it really felt like home.

Working for campus housing had taught him a lot of interesting shit over the past year. For instance, he was probably one of the only people living there who actually knew what Vidorra meant in Spanish: _the good life._ Seemed appropriate.

Unfortunately, judging by the phone call he got from his mom on the walk home that night, she was _not_ living vidorra. Lately, she'd been worrying a lot about his little sister, Tina, more than usual, and he was the one she talked to when the situation at home was stressing her out.

"No offense, honey," she was saying as he climbed on the elevator that night, "but Tina's parent/teacher conferences were always the good ones. Yours were the ones I dreaded."

"No offense taken." He punched the number three and waited impatiently for the doors to shut.

"This was just her worst report ever," his mom fretted. "The school year's barely started and she's already failing two classes. And her principal said she skipped eighth period yesterday."

"Oh, that's not so bad," he reassured her as he rode up to the third floor. "I skipped school all the time, and I turned out fine."

"You got lucky with your test scores," she reminded him.

"What are you talkin' about? That wasn't luck; that was extraordinary intelligence," he joked, stepping off the doors when they opened.

"Oh, you know what I mean. I didn't mean it like that."

He chuckled and headed down the hall. "No, you're right. It was fuckin' dumb luck." Oh, well. That ACT score had gotten him into college, so it was a damn good thing he'd taken it. Of course, it had taken some convincing.

"Well, you know what's not helping her is that she's still going out with Nicholas," his mom continued on.

"Still?" Holy crap, that relationship was coming up on the one-year mark then. That wasn't normal for junior high.

"I think he's a bad influence on her," his mom said.

"Hmm." Probably was. Nicholas was a year older than Tina, which meant he was a freshman now. Freshmen definitely weren't all innocent. When Michael thought back to all the shit he'd done as a freshman, it made him worry for his sister, too. "You know, maybe I can talk to her next time I come home," he proposed. Tina tended to respond pretty well to him.

"I think that's a good idea," his mom agreed. "Oh, I'd better let you go. I'm sure you've got a lot of homework to do."

"Yeah, a little bit." Michael stopped in front of the door to his apartment, fishing around in his pockets for the key card. "Alright, I love you, Mom."

He could practically hear her smile over the phone. "I love you, too. Bye, honey."

"Bye." He ended the call, found his key, and slid it into the electronic lock, pushing the door open.

It smelled good in there. Like girly bubble bath smells. And there was great music playing. And lasagna on the table.

Oh, yeah. _Vidorra._

"Babe?" he called, tossing his backpack down next to the couch. "I'm home." He kicked off his shoes and nudged them aside, venturing into the kitchen to take a whiff. It smelled righteous. His girl was a good cook.

"Baby?" he called again, treading through the living room.

He stopped when the door to the bathroom opened and all sorts of steam flooded out. She came out along with it, a teal tower tucked in beneath her arms, concealing her body from his view. Her dark brown hair looked virtually black as it clung to her smooth skin. The corners of her mouth curved upward into a warm and welcoming smile.

 _Sarah._

"Hey," she said softly. "How was your day?"

"Good," he replied, moving in closer to her, looking her up and down. There were still water droplets on her skin. "Just got a whole lot better."

"Really?" Sarah closed the distance between them, putting her hands on his shoulders, tilting her head back to look up at him flirtatiously with those pretty brown eyes of hers. "Why's that?"

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her in close, loving the way she just sort of melted into him. "Because of you," he said, grinning as he added, "Crazy Girl."

She giggled lightly and beamed a smile, rising up on her tiptoes so they could kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mmm._ Isabel Evans savored the taste of her martini as she finished it off, then plucked the strawberry off the side and bit off the bottom tip of it.

Beside her, her best friend Courtney declared, "You're gonna need another one of those." She raised her arm to get the bartender's attention, immediately wincing and putting it back down again. "Ow," she whined. "Eric made me really sore last night."

"Did you guys try the bondage stuff again?" Isabel guessed.

Courtney smirked. "Maybe."

Isabel rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Oh, Courtney and Eric . . . there was nothing they wouldn't try. Once in a while they bit off a little more than they could chew, but that never seemed to deter them from seeking out new deviant sexual habits all the time.

"You get your new martini," Courtney instructed as she gingerly slid off her bar stool. "I'm gonna hit the little girl's room." She quickly downed the rest of her own drink, grabbed her purse, and headed towards the back of the bar.

Isabel plucked the green top off of her strawberry and finished it off, debating if she really wanted another drink or not. She traced her index finger lazily around the rim of her glass and glanced up at the clock on the wall. Crap, she'd lost track of time. Her class was starting in five minutes.

"Hey, are you . . ."

She turned around when she heard somebody speaking to her. Some guy who was probably in college but looked like he was still in high school. Way too much gel in his bleach blonde hair and far too much acne on his face to ever be considered attractive.

"Oh my god, it's you!" he exclaimed, looking like an excited kid in a candy store. "You're Naughty Izzy!"

She slipped him a smile. "Yeah." This happened at least three times per week.

"From the Internet?"

She shrugged unabashedly. "That's me."

He laughed gleefully, then yelled to his friend, "Brandon, come here!"

She sighed, looking up at the clock again. Yeah. No way was she going to make it there on time.

"I'm Russell. I _love_ your stuff," her fan raved. "Seriously, I watch it every night."

"Oh, I don't doubt that." It didn't take a genius to conclude that Russell's girlfriend was his own hand.

"Brandon, take a picture," he said, handing his friend his iPhone. As if it were an afterthought, he asked Isabel, "Is that okay, a picture? I'm your biggest fan."

She'd met seven 'biggest fans' in the past month alone. "Sure," she said, turning all the way around. She let Russell put his arm around her and plastered on a smile as he gave a dopey thumbs up and Brandon took the picture.

"Let me see, let me see," he rambled right away, seizing the camera back from him. "Oh, that's awesome. You're so hot."

"Thanks." She sort of had to be in her line of work.

All of a sudden, out of the blue, his lips were on hers, and he was trying to shove his tongue into her mouth. She whimpered and pushed him away, vehemently opposed to kissing him. "What the hell?" she snapped. "What makes you think you can just kiss me?"

"You're Naughty Izzy," he repeated. "You do porn."

She huffed. "With my boyfriend!" That didn't give him any right to slip her the tongue!

At that moment, Courtney reappeared at the bar. "What's going on here?" she chimed, eyeing the two boys. "Big fans?"

"Oh my god." The camera fell from Russell's hand as he stared at her in astonishment. "Slutty Courtney?"

Courtney grinned proudly. "Yep, that's me."

Brandon got in on the action, too, now, his mouth dropping open. "Holy shit," he gasped. "You're real?"

"Well . . ." Courtney squeezed her own breasts and shrugged. "Parts of me."

The two idiot boys looked at each other and high-fived, as if they'd just found gold or something.

"I gotta get to class," Isabel announced, getting to her feet, slinking off unnoticed now that Courtney had the boys' attention. Now they could get a picture with her, too, and unlike Isabel, she probably wouldn't mind making out with them.

...

" _Slam_ poetry, you guys," Alex Whitman emphasized, wanting to make sure his students understood the point of the assignment. "Not whisper poetry. Not reading in the same boring, emotionless tone you used in middle school poetry. The words should be so powerful that they slam into the audience, rhythmic and relatable. We should be able not only to hear your passion . . . but to feel it." He liked that little glimmer of excitement he saw in a few students' eyes. Creative Writing definitely seemed to be the English class college students didn't dread taking, even if they were only taking it to fulfill a general requirement. That was why he'd lobbied like hell to be the grad student assigned to teaching it.

"Now, it doesn't matter to me how long it is," he said, never one to assign a length requirement. "Let's be real here: It definitely shouldn't be a haiku. But I just want you to write until it's done. And it'll be up to you to decide when it is. Now as far as topics go . . ." He trailed off momentarily as the door to the classroom opened, and in came Isabel, dressed in denim shorts and a white midriff. She had on big, oversized sunglasses that she didn't bother to take off as she slinked towards an empty seat.

Yep, there was always one student in every class who just couldn't ever get there on time. Unfortunately, Isabel was that student for him.

"I'd like you to write about a social issue," he instructed, returning his attention to the rest of the class, "but be creative with it. This is poetry, after all, not an essay."

Isabel pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head and raised her hand high into the air.

"Yes?" he called on her.

"How long does it have to be?"

A few of the other students, mostly girls, rolled their eyes at her.

"No length requirement," he answered. "If you'd been here on time, you might've already heard me say that."

There were a few light snickers, mostly from the eye-rollers, and she just stared at him for a moment but didn't argue.

"Alright, we're gonna get inspired by viewing a few videos of slam poetry contests right here in the Carlsbad area," Alex continued on, motioning to the student closest to the door. "Jay? Lights?"

Isabel put her sunglasses back on in disinterest as Jay reached up to the wall and flicked the light switch off.

...

It was so much easier for Michael to wake up when Sarah was the one waking him. _So_ much better than an annoying alarm clock. He usually pretended to still be asleep, just because it was fun.

This morning, she drummed her fingers against his bare chest, then lightly grazed her hands against his skin. "Wake up, wake up," she whispered in his ear sweetly.

"Mmm," he murmured. Why would he want to wake up when it felt so good to lie here?

She kissed his cheek, then slid down a bit, pressing a few feather-light kisses to his chest.

"You're makin' it really hard to get outta this bed," he told her, eyes still shut.

She crawled on top of him, straddling his waist, and smoothed her hands up his sides.

Eventually, he could resist no more. He opened his eyes, appreciating how pretty she looked even in the morning. She had such thick dark eyelashes, so she always looked like she was wearing makeup, even when she wasn't. And her hair always looked thick and soft, even when she hadn't combed it yet. Plus . . . she'd slept in his t-shirt. So that was really hot.

"Good morning," she said happily.

"Morning."

She leaned in to kiss him, and he seized the opportunity to grip her waist and pull her body even closer to his. She squealed excitedly as he did so.

Once they'd gotten up and around, Sarah accompanied him to campus for some errands he had to run. The first was a stop at the financial aid office in the administration building. There was some scholarship stuff he needed to sort out.

"So I'm supposed to have 3,500 dollars in scholarships this year," he recapped to the lady behind the counter. "But when I checked my student bill, it only showed that 3,000 of it had been applied."

"Hmm, well, that is a little strange," the woman agreed. "Do you know what scholarship wasn't counted?"

"Probably this five-hundred dollar one I got from housing late last year," he speculated. "I just wanna make sure I get it, you know?"

"Oh, of course. Well, more than likely it'll be applied to your second semester bill," she assured him, "but I can look into it today and give you a call sometime this afternoon when I find out more."

"Alright, thanks." That had been easy enough.

"Have a nice day," she told him.

"Yeah, you, too." He stepped away from the counter, took Sarah's hand, and together they left.

"So . . ." she drawled as they walked back outside towards the rec center this time. "Yvonne's filling in for me tomorrow, so I get to go to the game."

"Good." It was one of only three night games they had this year. Those were always the best.

"Yeah, I'm excited," she said. "I can't wait to see Monk's girlfriend."

"Wanna make a bet?" he proposed, already envisioning what Monk's girl _really_ looked like.

"Ten bucks . . . fat black man," she wagered confidently.

He shook his head. "Nope. Mexican transvestite."

"Oh, it's on then."

"It's so on."

"If I win, you better pay up right away."

" _When_ I win, I'm exchanging my ten bucks for ten blow-jobs."

"You!" she yelped, whacking his chest playfully.

He laughed, loving that she pretended to be all outraged by the suggestion, when in reality . . . she'd totally be cool with it.

"Hey, guess what?" he said, changing the subject suddenly.

"What?"

"You know that stats test you helped me study for last week?"

"Yeah, did you get it back?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"What'd you get?"

He squeezed her hand in his. "Ninety-nine."

She gasped with delight. "Michael, that's great!" But then, she frowned. "Wait a minute. Does that mean your GPA's still higher than mine then?"

He grinned teasingly.

"God!" she groaned. "Why did I help you study again?"

"Because you love me. Because you can't resist me," he openly boasted. "Because I do things to you when you're naked that you like."

"Hmm, well . . ." She thought about it and conceded, "I _do_ like most of those things."

He shot her an alarmed look. " _Most_?" Good lord, what the fuck was he doing she didn't like?

"I'm kidding," she assured him laughingly.

"Oh. Good." Sex was the one thing in the world he knew he was the best at, better than anyone else. It needed to stay that way.

"But seriously, if it hadn't been for that douchebag professor I had for philosophy class, I'd have a 3.9 right now," she lamented, letting her inner nerd flag fly. "He hated me."

"He didn't hate you," Michael said, putting his arm around her shoulders. She was so short that her head always ended up right in his armpit.

"And why do I need philosophy to be a pharmacist anyway?" she wondered aloud.

"Why do I need statistics to be a counselor? I don't know."

"Stupid general education requirements," she mumbled, pouting. "I know it's totally stereotypical for the Asian girl to be obsessed with her grades, but it's so frustrating. I know I'd have a 3.9."

"Sarah Nguyen, do you realize how many people would kill for your GPA?" he pointed out. There was nothing wrong with a 3.7. She pretty much _had_ to get amazing grades, though. She didn't just have upperclassmen scholarships like he did; she had a full tuition scholarship for the score she'd gotten on the ACT.

"I guess, I guess," she relented, snuggling close to his side as they neared their destination. "Do you realize how many people would kill for _your_ GPA, though? Or your athletic ability? Or your hair."

"Can't blame 'em," he said, threading his hand through his spiky mane. "I'm a catch."

...

It wasn't a pretty sight to see when Michael showed up at Tess and Kyle's place that afternoon: Kyle, planted in his wheelchair, trying unsuccessfully to get something out of an upper cabinet with the help of the walking cane he never used. He didn't even acknowledge Michael when he came in.

"What're you doin'?" Michael asked, but he already knew. He'd seen his dad do a thousand times growing up, just without the wheelchair or the cane. Same desperation, though.

"Tess hides the liquor up here," Kyle replied simply. "She thinks I can't reach it."

Michael couldn't help but state the obvious. "You can't."

Kyle was determined, though. "Well, I'm going to."

Michael hated watching this. It was painful. "You know, she probably hides it 'cause she doesn't want you to drink it," he said.

"Probably," Kyle agreed flippantly, frowning as he concentrated all his effort on trying to knock a whiskey bottle down into his lap. He reached up as high as he could, but his cane was just barely touching the tip of it.

"You know, you could just stand up," Michael pointed out.

Kyle looked at him impatiently, bringing his cane down. "Or you could just get it for me."

Michael thought about it a moment, then played along with it, nodding. He slipped in between Kyle's wheelchair and the counter, reaching up to grab the bottle without problem. It was only half full.

"Thanks," Kyle said, holding out his hand for it as Michael unscrewed the lid; but instead of handing it over, Michael took a drink himself and then sauntered into the living room. No way was he letting Kyle have a drink.

"So I thought of another reason why you should go to the game tomorrow night," he said, not about to give up on trying to entice his friend into coming.

Kyle reluctantly wheeled himself in after him, looking pissed that he wasn't getting to enjoy the whiskey he'd been so determined to get. "What game?" he muttered.

Michael flopped down on the couch. "The one I told you about yesterday."

"Oh . . ." Kyle shrugged. "I don't remember."

 _Sure you do,_ Michael thought. He was just pretending not to because he wanted the conversation to be over. "Fly's gonna be the mascot," he revealed. "That's gonna be entertaining."

Kyle snorted. "You know, Monk and Fly and Steve . . . they're your friends, man."

"They're yours, too," Michael assured him.

"No, they're not. Only reason they even know me is 'cause you dragged me around with you when we first got here."

"Yeah, well, you dragged me around for eighteen years, so . . ." He probably owed Kyle a lot more than anything he'd ever be able to give him or do for him. Kyle had always stuck by him, never wavered, not even when times were bad. Now Michael owed it to him to do the same.

"Well, I can't go," Kyle refused. "The Bama game's on TV. I really wanna watch it."

"So DVR it," Michael suggested, "watch it when you get home." Truth be told, he hated that Kyle still followed Alabama football so closely. It only made him more miserable.

"Alright, you can stop," Kyle growled.

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to make me go to this stupid game. I don't wanna go." Kyle rolled his wheelchair down the hall, and seconds after he was out of sight, Michael heard the bedroom door slam shut.

He set the whiskey aside, sighing in frustration. Yeah, he'd stop trying . . . once Kyle started.

...

It might not have been Tuscaloosa, but still, the New Mexico State stadium was alive Saturday night. Carlsbad was a really small town, smaller than Roswell, actually, but it was a college town, and that was all that mattered. That was enough to make it lively. Everyone showed up at the game. The stadium wasn't much bigger than a lot of high school stadiums, but it was packed.

It was always a good atmosphere, always a sea of crimson. Not the crimson Michael had planned to wear when he'd first started college, but crimson nonetheless. Anyone who wasn't wearing that color probably wasn't wearing much of anything at all. There were a lot of girls who showed up in shorts and tube tops, and a lot of guys who were shirtless. A few who were practically spilling over the front row of the bleachers had painted AGGIES on their chests and looked very, very hammered.

As Michael and Sarah were making their way past the student section, they each ran into a few people they knew. A couple girls said hi to Sarah, and a couple guys shouted, "Michael!" and held up their hands for high-fives. "Go Aggies!" one of them yelled right in his ear. They bypassed the student section, though, because if you wanted to watch the game from there, you had to stand the whole time. At 5'3", Sarah was too short to see much of the action from there.

"Where do you wanna sit?" she asked him, looking up the bleachers.

He moved in close behind her and put his hands on her hips so as not to lose her in the crowd. "Wherever you want."

She started up the steps, stopping when she pointed out, "Look, it's Monk!"

He looked up to the very top of the bleachers, where usually only the old people sat, and indeed, there was Monk, returning to his seat with two hot dogs from the concession stand. "The girlfriend?" He peered closer.

"I don't know . . ." Sarah squinted, then proclaimed, "Ha!" as she spotted her. "Fat black man."

Indeed, Monk handed not one but both of the hot dogs over to a big, burly guy in a bright pink jumpsuit. "Damn," he swore. "You're good." He reached into his back pocket right away to take out his wallet.

"Oh, no," she said, peeking over her shoulder mischievously. "I'll be collecting my winnings later."

He grinned eagerly, liking the sound of that.

They started up the steps, and eventually, Michael spotted Steve in the middle section of the bleachers, standing up and waving to get their attention. "There," he said, pointing him out to Sarah.

"Steve!" she exclaimed, weaving her way through the cramped rows, managing to slip in beside him. "Hi!"

"Hi." He gave her a quick hug. "Sorry, I tried to save seats for you guys."

"Oh, it's okay," she said, sitting down. "We'll squeeze in." She scooted as far over as she could, and Michael sat down next to her. If it got too crowded, she could literally sit on his lap.

"How's Fly doin'?" Michael asked.

Steve motioned down to the track. "See for yourself."

It was quite a sight to see. Fly was wearing a crimson vest and chaps, cowboy boots, and a black cowboy hat. His usual faint mustache must not have been dark enough, because he was wearing a fake one. He had a holster and two fake guns, both of which he was holding down by his junk. He kept thrusting into the air. Apparently the guns were compensating for something.

"Pistol Pete!" Michael roared in support of his friend. "Yeah!"

Fly spun around, drawing his guns into the air, then spotted Michael and waved like an idiot. Even threw he looked like he was having a great time down there, though, someone up closer to the front through a plate of super nachos at him, and they splattered all over his costume.

"You want some of this?" Fly challenged, taking off both of his boots. He threw them back into the crowd, yelling, "What now, motherfucker? Yeah! Get some! Get some!" And that was followed by more exaggerated thrusting.

Michael chuckled. Oh, man, Fly made his old high school friends look downright normal.

"So no Cheryl tonight?" Sarah asked Steve.

"No, she didn't think she could squeeze through this crowd, let alone sit in the middle of it for the whole game."

"She's massive," Michael remarked.

"Michael!" Sarah hissed.

"What? She is." He'd last seen Cheryl during poker night at Steve's place last month, and even then, she'd looked like a gigantic bowling ball.

"Yeah, she's gained about forty pounds already," Steve revealed. "And she's not done yet."

"Well, when's she having her baby shower?" Sarah asked him.

"I don't know. Sometime in October."

"Well, tell her to call me as soon as she sets a date. I wanna make sure I can get off work for it."

"Will do."

"And as far as presents go . . ." she added leadingly. "Should I be buying something pink? Something blue?"

Steve smiled proudly. "Something blue would probably be a good bet."

"Oh my gosh!" Sarah squealed. "Congratulations! When did you guys find out?"

"Our last doctor's visit."

"Congrats," she said again. "Are you excited?"

Steve pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, pretty excited. I think every man looks forward to having a son, you know, teachin' him to play sports and all that stuff. Don't you think, Michael?"

Michael pretended like he hadn't heard the question. "What?"

Sarah put her hand on his leg and squeezed gently. Then she kept talking to Steve, asking if he and Cheryl had any ideas for names yet.

Michael seized the opportunity to let his attention drift to the actual game. They were almost at the end of the first quarter, and the Aggies were ahead 7-0, and they had the ball on the opponent's forty-five yard line. Michael watched them line up for the play, an obvious pass formation. The center snapped the ball too high, but the quarterback managed to hold onto it. The pocket around him collapsed fast, though, and he had to throw early. His receiver was well-covered, and even though he ran the slant route and leapt for it, the football bounced right off his fingertips and was almost intercepted.

The crowd groaned in disappointment, but almost instantly, they were hollering and cheering again.

"You could've caught that," Sarah said confidently.

"Yeah," he agreed. He probably could have. At least if Kyle had been throwing it.

The team went no huddle and lined up in a different formation. Still another obvious pass formation, though. Michael recognized it all too well.

...

 _It was so fucking loud there._

" _Roll, Tide, roll! Roll, Tide, roll!"_

 _Michael stood on the sidelines, listening to the crowd in amazement. Hundreds of thousands of people, all blasting their voices out at once. He'd never seen anything like it, never been a part of anything like it. Not even last year, when he'd gone to one of Alabama's home the games. Not when he'd come to the scrimmage in the spring. Being a fan was awesome, but being a player was surreal._

" _Roll, Tide, roll! Roll, Tide, roll!"_

 _The offense was still energized on the sideline, even though it was the fourth quarter. They were dominating the depleted Michigan team, and the score was 49-3. After a kickoff return right at the very start of the game, every drive had resulted in a touchdown. It didn't get better than that._

" _Yeah, let's go, D! Get that ball back!"_

 _Kyle was playing the best game of his life, and it showed. He was so animated as he jumped up and down on the sidelines, trying to keep everyone as pumped up and motivated to score as possible. It didn't matter that they were so far ahead. He wanted to score more. He'd already run it in for two touchdowns and passed for four._

 _There had been some debate leading up to this game about whether Kyle should be the starting quarterback, or if one of the more experienced seniors should have been. No debate now._

" _This is awesome," Kyle raved, unable to stop moving around. If he wasn't bouncing around, he was practicing his throwing motion or stretching. "I can't believe we're here."_

I can't believe _I'm_ here, _Michael thought. Kyle had always been meant for this. "Did you know you already set a record?" Michael asked him. "They showed somethin' up on the screen. Most passing yards by a true freshman quarterback."_

 _Kyle's whole face lit up. Michael had never seen him look so excited before. "Man, there's still time. I'm gonna add some more to that."_

 _As if on cue, the defense held up and stopped the Wolverines on fourth down. Kyle quickly put his helmet back on, and he and the rest of the starters headed back out onto the field. Michael could see the offensive coordinator and quarterback coach talking, probably talking about whether or not they wanted to leave Kyle in the game at this point. There was virtually no chance of them losing that game. They could rest him and give the backups a chance to clock some playing time. They'd probably give him this one more drive, just to see if he could bring the score up over fifty, and then they'd substitute._

 _Before the play could start up, Michigan's coach came barreling down the opposite sideline, shouting to the ref to challenge the spot on the prior fourth down. The crowd booed. To them, the runner had obviously been short. Kyle gathered the guys into a huddle while they were waiting, talking through the next drive. He'd had a lot of authority on the play calling during the third quarter. It was clear the coaches trusted his decision-making._

" _Let's switch it up!" he heard his head coach bellowing. And the next thing he knew, while the officials were reviewing the previous play, a couple offensive linemen and the team's leading receiver were breaking the huddle and coming off the field._

" _Guerin," he heard Coach say. "Get out there."_

 _What the fuck was happening? He was actually gonna get in the game? He was a freshman, a walk-on. He'd barely managed to squeak himself into that college in the first place._

 _He didn't question it, though. He put on his helmet and ran out there with a few of the other backups. They probably weren't expecting miracles out of them. They just wanted to give them the experience, just in case the starters got hurt and they had to fill in for them in a game down the line._

 _But still . . . it was awesome._

 _He joined the huddle as the ref was making the obvious announcement that the previous play's ruling had been confirmed. Kyle looked elated to see him checking into the game._

 _He was really actually out there. On that field. In that stadium. In front of all those people. Somewhere in those stands, Kyle's dad and Tess were watching. Somewhere at home, his mom and maybe even his own dad were watching. And maybe somewhere else . . ._

 _Michael was so overwhelmed, he didn't even really hear the play call. But he didn't have to. He'd played ball with Kyle long enough to recognize that look in his eyes instantly. Pass play. He was counting on him._

 _They lined up in a spread offense formation, hoping to confuse their opponent's already jumbled defense, forcing them to protect the pass but also attack the run. Kyle was under center, analyzing the defensive scheme, shouting out the necessary play adjustments as the play clock ticked down._

 _As loud as that stadium was, it was like sound all of a sudden just faded out for Michael, and all he could hear was his own breathing, his own heart beating._

 _He got into his stance and looked to his left, making eye contact with his best friend, the official starting quarterback. Kyle gave him the subtlest of head nods, and Michael knew what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to run the post route, get as open as he could, go vertical and make that grab in traffic if he had to. Screw the safety or anyone else who got in his way. He had to haul it in. Maybe Kyle could set some other record if he did._

 _With two seconds left on the play clock, the center snapped the ball to Kyle. Michael darted down the field, relying on instinct to tell him when he'd gone about twenty yards. He cut inward at a forty-five degree angle near the fifty yard line, aligned with the goal posts, and looked back over his shoulder._

 _Kyle lifted his right arm into the air to pitch him the ball, but right as it was leaving his hand a defender plowed into him from the front, and another swarmed from behind, ramming his helmet into his back. The pass was wobbly in the air, but Michael leapt up for it anyway. He secured it, brought it towards his chest, and fell down with it in his possession, the safety falling right on top of him._

 _It wasn't pretty. First down, though._

" _Woo!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet. He quickly tossed the ball back to one of the refs and looked back to Kyle so they could celebrate their first completed college pass. Everyone was celebrating. The entire Alabama sideline was about to burst._

 _But Kyle was down. The two defenders who had tackled him were chest-bumping and drawing flags for unsportsmanlike conduct._

" _Kyle?" Something wasn't right._

 _Michael raced towards him. A couple of the other players were looking down at him and holding out their hands to help him up, but he didn't move._

 _When Michael knelt down beside him, he saw the tears of panic in his eyes._

" _I can't feel my legs, man!" Kyle cried._

 _Michael stared at him in disbelief. "What?"_

" _I can't feel my legs!" Kyle strained and grimaced, like he was trying to lift his legs up, but they didn't move at all._

Oh, god.

" _Help!" Michael screamed, but the medical staff and trainers were already on their way onto the field._

...

Michael watched intently as the Aggies ran another pass play, and one of their receivers ran that same post route. The quarterback protection held up, though, and it was a nice, easy pass. Good catch, clean hit by the safety to bring him down at the thirty-five yard line.

Michael breathed a small sigh of relief and clapped his hands. "Alright, let's go, Aggies!"

...

A guy from one of Michael's psychology classes threw a party at his place off campus after the game, so Michael and Sarah went. Steve went home, but Fly and Monk accompanied them, along with Monk's "girlfriend," whose name turned out to be Dashaud. He said everyone called him "Big Cedar," though.

Monk was left to deal with Big Cedar all night, who seemed very needy for attention. Fly did his usual thing, flirting with every woman in sight and drinking every ounce of alcohol he could find on the premises. Michael had a couple drinks, but he had a feeling he was going to end up having to drive Fly home, so he didn't overdo it.

Hip hop music blasted from the speakers, and Sarah danced around in front of him a lot, even if he was just standing around. She been on her high school's dance team, so she had a great sense of rhythm. Watching her dance was one of his favorite things in the world. She usually tried to persuade him to dance, too, and once in a while he did; but it was pimp style dancing, which mainly just required him to nod his head like a boss, raise his right hand in the air, and point down at her to the beat of the music.

The party was fun, at least until two way too familiar blonde girls stood up on the couch and started dancing like they were in a strip club. It wasn't unusual to see Isabel and Courtney at these parties. Isabel was a student at the university after all, and she and Courtney were joined at the hip—sometimes literally, if a strap on dick was involved. Michael usually tried to ignore them, but it was hard to when they were making such a spectacle of themselves.

"Ugh," Sarah groaned as Courtney dumped beer all over Isabel and Isabel hollered in exaltation. "I hate it when your ex-girlfriends crash the party."

Yeah, so did he. It always seemed to put a damper on things. "Courtney was never my girlfriend," he reminded her. "She was just . . . my first."

"Hmm." Sarah made a face when Courtney took off her top and started whirling it around her head like a lasso. "Something tells me you weren't hers."

She was right about that. Courtney had pretty much always been a slut, so seeing her trash it up like this wasn't a big deal. But Isabel, on the other hand . . .

It wasn't fun to watch her to watch her strip off her shorts and start circling her hips around, baring her naked ass to all the guys who had crowded around to watch the impromptu show. She bent over, grabbed on to the back of the couch, and started doing booty claps in time with the music. A few guys reached out to slap her ass and slip money into the side of her thong.

"You wanna go?" he asked Sarah, sensing this party was taking a turn for the worst. She wouldn't be here if it was starting to get sloppy.

"Yeah," she replied. "Let's get Fly and leave."

"Alright." Michael pushed through Courtney and Isabel's audience towards the front, where Fly was down on his knees, practically salivating. "Come on, man," he said, lifting him up. "I'm drivin' you home."

"Man, let's stay," Fly suggested.

"No, we're gonna go." No way could Fly get behind the wheel tonight. He helped his friend walk away, well aware that Isabel had just seen him there.

As it turned out, they didn't need the party. After dropping Fly off at his and Monk's apartment, Michael and Sarah headed home, and just as he'd hoped, she followed through with her decision to collect her winnings from the ten dollar bet they'd made. But his girl knew him well, and instead of collecting dollars, she collected something _else_ instead.

"Mmm," she moned as he slithered up her body that night.

He licked his lips, savoring the taste of her. "Gotta say, I think our party's better than their party."

"So much better," she agreed, tousling his hair.

"What am I at now? Three? Four?" he asked.

"Three."

Seven more to go. He grinned. "Then I got some work to do."

"I think three's about all I can handle tonight," she said, rubbing his cheek.

"Tomorrow night then." He kissed her, then murmured in her ear, "And the night after that. And the night after that."

She sighed happily, turning over onto her side, and he settled in behind her, draping his arm over her stomach, ready to fall asleep with her. It _definitely_ hadn't been a mistake to leave the party early and come home.


	3. Chapter 3

"Now _squeeze_ your buttocks and inhale."

Tess struggled to maintain the downward dog position, let alone squeeze her butt while she was doing so. There was a time when doing this simple yoga move would have been easy, but nowadays, she wasn't as flexible, and it was harder. As long as she kept her ass in the air, she wasn't really too concerned if her legs or arms bent.

"Exhale," the yoga instructor said calmly. "Feel the energy coursing through every limb of your body."

 _What energy?_ Tess wondered. All she felt was pain.

Beside her, maintaining the pose effortlessly, Sarah whispered, "Hey, you're pretty good at this. Had a lot of practice?"

"Ha." Tess stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth.

"Ha," Sarah mimicked.

By the time class was over and the room was clearing out, Tess was already feeling sore. It was a good kind of sore, though. She missed yoga and dancing and all the stuff that had kept her in top physical form in high school.

"That was relaxing," Sarah remarked as they rolled up their yoga mats.

"Yeah," Tess agreed. "I swear, I don't know what I would do without our girl time, Sarah. It's the only time I don't feel stressed out about _everything_."

"Everything?" Sarah echoed, holding her mat underneath her arm. "I thought you were excited about your job."

"I was . . . until I started working it." Tess frowned. "Being a cheer coach is supposed to be fun, but lately it's just been pissing me off."

"Why's that?"

"Because of the people I work with. Stephanie and Kristin." She rolled her eyes. Just saying their names made her want to gag. "Stephanie cheered at Fresno State, but she acts like it was the NFL. And Kristin actually _did_ try out for an NFL team, but she didn't make it. But she acts like she did. And they both treat me like I don't know what I'm talking about just because I didn't cheer for as long as they did. But I mean, I would have. I would've gone to college, I would've cheered if . . . you know . . ." She trailed off.

"If you didn't have to take care of Kyle," Sarah finished.

"Yeah." Often, she imagined what could have been, what almost was. It would have been so nice to go to Alabama with him, to be down there on the sidelines while he was out on that field. It would have been _so_ nice.

"Do they know about any of that?" Sarah asked.

"No. But they're such enormous bitches, they probably wouldn't even care if I told them. They don't care about anything I say. It's like my opinion has no value to them. Like today, Kristin was teaching the girls the choreography for this Christmas competition—lame choreography, by the way, because guess who made it up: Kristin. _Anyway_ , the girls weren't catching on very well, so I was like, 'Hey, Kristin, you really need to go slower and break it down more eight count by eight count, because they're not getting it.' And she totally just ignored me and kept doing what she was doing. It's like, I realize I'm just the assistant coach, but she doesn't let me coach anything. At all."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Tess," Sarah sympathized. "That doesn't sound fun."

"It's not." Nothing was fun anymore. It hadn't been for a long time.

"Well, if you're so unhappy there, maybe you should just quit," Sarah suggested.

"I can't. I'm good at two things in life: cheering, and being Kyle's loyal girlfriend. Only one of 'em lends itself to a job. Besides . . ." She lowered her voice, confessing, "I know it's only a part-time thing, but I need the money. Kyle's dad's been paying all our bills for the past three months."

"Oh, Tess . . ." Sarah reached out and squeezed her hand supportively. "If you ever need money, Michael and I-"

"No," she cut in stubbornly. "I don't wanna . . ." It was embarrassing, being so in debt at such a young age, but Kyle's medical expenses were . . . well, expensive. And the longer his recovery went on, the less insurance paid.

"I understand," Sarah said.

"So speaking of you and Michael . . ." Tess was desperate to change the subject, so as they headed out of the room, she asked, "Still livin' the dream?"

"Yeah, thanks to you."

Tess smiled proudly. "I _am_ quite the matchmaker, aren't I?"

"You did good."

"Well, I'm glad. Now that my life sucks, I have to live vicariously through the two of you. Got anything new and exciting going on?"

"Well, funny you should ask. We actually do have some news."

Immediately, Tess glanced down at her friend's left hand, thinking there was no _way_ she could have missed that. And indeed, she hadn't. No ring. "What news?" she questioned eagerly.

"Well . . ." Sarah stepped in front of her, her eyes wide with excitement, her smile stretching from ear to ear. "Turns out, Michael and I are expecting . . ."

Tess's eyes bulged. "Oh my god."

"To get a puppy!"

"Oh!" That was less life-changing than what she'd been thinking. "Yay!"

"I know, right?"

"Yeah. I totally knew you were gonna say that."

...

Michael leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the front desk as he popped the tab open on his coke.

"A puppy?" Tina echoed on the computer screen. They'd been Skyping for the past ten minutes. "Since when have you ever wanted a puppy?"

Michael took a drink and replied, "Since birth."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Dogs are cool."

"A puppy's a lot of work, though," she warned him.

"Well, I'm good at work." He motioned around himself. "See, I'm working right now."

"Yeah, looks like you're really killin' yourself there," she commented sarcastically.

He laughed a little and shrugged. Yeah, it was an easy job. He was pulling a one-man shift at Vidorra tonight, though, so it was boring.

"So what're _you_ supposed to be workin' on?" he asked her.

She made a face of disgust. "English paper."

"And how's that goin'?"

"Haven't started yet," she admitted. "It's due tomorrow."

Wow, she sounded like the high school version of him. Scary. "Is that one of the classes you're failing?" he questioned.

"Mom told you about that?"

"Yep." He touched the mouse on his laptop when the screensaver started to come on. "You know, Sarah's really good at English. You should email her your stuff. She'd proofread it for you."

"I don't even wanna do it," she complained. "It's an expository essay."

"Five-paragraph thing?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, those suck," he agreed. He remembered sitting through several agonizing Study Buddies sessions his senior year, struggling to get _anything_ written down even then. "You should just do it, though. Get it done." He squinted his eyes at the screen when he thought he saw movement coming from the corner of her room. Like somebody was . . . hiding behind the curtain or something. "Is that Nicholas back there?" he asked, sitting up straighter, leaning closer to the screen.

"No," she said, turning her computer a bit. "I gotta go, Michael. I have a paper to write." She signed off, and he shook his head in amazement. His little sister, the rebellious thirteen year-old. Until she'd gotten to fifth grade, he never would have imagined it, but once she'd started hanging out with Hannah fucking Crown that year and focusing all her energy on being popular . . . she'd just changed.

He closed his computer and took his phone out of his pocket, quickly texting his mom to let her know that Nicholas was upstairs and she'd want to go shoe him out.

As he was pressing _send_ , the elevator opened, and out came the dumbest, prettiest redhead he'd ever known: Roxie Harson. Every time Michael saw her on campus, he was amazed she'd gotten admitted into college in the first place. But then again, people probably felt the same way about him.

"Roxie," he greeted warmly, taking in her . . . attire. Or lack of it. She had on black panties and a hot pink bra. And nothing else. "Did you lock yourself out of your room again?"

She smiled at him sort of . . . appreciatively. "How'd you know?"

"You've locked yourself out of your room three times in the past two weeks."

"I have?" She giggled like an airhead. "I don't know why I keep doing that."

"Do you know why you're in your underwear?"

She looked down at herself, then shrugged. "No, I don't know that, either."

"Oh. Okay." He reached into the top right drawer and took out a skeleton key card that would unlock any door in the suites. But before he handed it over to her, he had to make sure he gave her explicitly clear instructions on how to use it, otherwise it might all go over her head. "Now I'm gonna give you this. You put it in the door lock, go in, get your room key, and then you bring this one back to me, okay?"

"Got it," she proclaimed.

"Which key are you bringing back to me?"

"My room key."

"No, this one. _After_ you get your room key back."

For a moment she looked confused, then said, "Oooooh, okay, that makes sense."

"Does it, Roxie?" Last time, it hadn't.

"Yeah. I'm not stupid, Michael." She snatched the skeleton key with him and pranced back to the elevator, her ass cheeks jiggling nicely as she did so. Not that he noticed.

Suddenly, Sarah was right there at the front desk, too. "Hey," she chirped.

"Hey." He noticed she still had her yoga mat with her, so she and Tess must have ended up spending the whole day together.

She watched curiously as Roxie got back on the elevator. "Didn't you go to high school with that girl?"

"I went to pound-town with her," he openly admitted.

"Oh . . ." She cringed. "That's great."

"Yeah, she's, like, the biggest slut I've ever met."

"Bigger than Isabel?" She smirked. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

"Maybe not," he conceded. Isabel was pretty far gone these days. "But I'm sure she's done enough shit to have her own website."

" _You've_ done enough shit to have your own website," she pointed out.

"True. But now I only do shit with you."

"Hmm, lucky guy."

He smiled at her. Yeah. Yeah, he was pretty lucky.

"How long are you down here tonight?" she asked him.

"Uh, 'til 11:00."

"Dammit," she swore. "Oh, well. I'll study and cook something until you get done."

"Pasta?" he requested. She made great pasta.

"Pasta it is." She leaned over the desk and gave him a quick kiss. "See you later."

"See you," he echoed as she headed towards the elevator.

"Oh, wait!" she exclaimed, spinning around. "When do you wanna go get the puppy, tomorrow or Tuesday?"

He shrugged. "Whatever works for you." A guy from one of his summer classes had a corgi who had given birth to six puppies, and he'd posted something a few days ago on Facebook about selling them for two-hundred bucks each. Along with pictures that could melt even the toughest guy's heart. Michael had always wanted a dog growing up, but his dad had never allowed him to get one.

At that moment, which was the exact wrong moment, his boss, Brody Davis, the housing director and residence director at Vidorra, came out of his apartment down on the first floor and said, "What's this I hear about a puppy?"

Sarah exchanged a worried glance with Michael. "Gotta go," she said, opting to scurry up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator to come back down.

Brody sauntered towards the front desk, asking again, "A puppy, Michael? Really?"

"Yeah." Michael knew he had to navigate this situation carefully in order to get his way. Brody was a cool, laidback guy, and they got along really well; but he was British, and British people had their royal family and all that other screwed up crap. Sometimes Brody didn't quite understand why Americans loved and wanted the things they did.

"Michael." His boss gave him a serious look. "You can't have a pet in campus housing. You know that."

"No one even has to know I have it. I'll make sure it stays in my apartment."

"What about when you have to take it outside to go to the bathroom?"

"Oh, come on, Brody, you know me. I got a plan."

"A plan."

"Yeah." He'd been thinking this through for weeks, ever since he and Sarah had decided to get one of these corgi puppies, and he'd even done his research. "I saw this Youtube video where this guy trained his dog to use the toilet. So that's what I'm gonna do."

Brody chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, Michael . . ."

"Dude, I'm your favorite employee. Just let me have this."

Brody sighed, and just as he usually did when Michael requested some outlandish privilege other residents didn't get to enjoy, he gave in. "I was never here," he claimed, backing up towards his apartment with his hands out. "We never had this conversation."

"Yes!" Michael did a celebratory fist-pump close to his side. Why had he never made a bigger effort to get adults to like him back in high school? These days, it was sure paying off.

...

 _I used to be so good at this,_ Isabel thought frustratedly as she crossed out the line she'd just written. Fiction stories had always been a stronger genre for her than poetry, but still . . . poetry had never been a challenge. But this was bad. She wasn't feeling what she was coming up with at all, and time was running short. They were supposed to start their slam poetry competition in class on Tuesday.

A knock on the door distracted her. She glanced up as her boyfriend, Jesse Ramirez, poked his head in. "Hey, beautiful," he said. "What're you workin' on?"

She crumpled up her paper, tossing it onto the floor with the other failed attempts. "Slam poetry."

" _Slam_ poetry," he echoed, gliding into the room. He had on black silk boxer shorts and no shirt. His tan skin looked amazing, especially in her dimly lit room. "I like the sound of that." He got onto the bed and started crawling towards her suggestively.

"Not _that_ kind of slamming," she informed him.

"No, I know," he said. "I'm very poetic."

"Are you now?" She had to admit, when he spoke Spanish, it always sounded incredibly fluid and sexy.

He cleared his throat and started in on a made-up poem. "All I want is to touch your skin . . ." He smoothed his hand over her shoulder, urging the strap of her nightgown down. "Touching you is the sweetest sin. Makes me feel . . . like I'm gonna win." He gleamed at her playfully. "How'd I do?"

"Hmm, well, I'd give you an A+, but I don't know what Alex would give you."

"Alex?" He frowned. "Same Alex you dated?"

"We went out on one date," she reminded him. "Once."

"He's teachin' your class?"

"Yeah." She averted her eyes momentarily, mumbling, "Thought I told you that."

"No, you didn't."

"Oh." She was fairly certain she had, but he probably just hadn't been listening.

"Isn't he, like, three years older than you?"

"Two," she corrected, "but he got his bachelor's degree in three years, and he started grad school last year. So now this year he gets to be one of those grad students who teaches." He was doing a good job, too. His lessons was enjoyable so far, and the assignments he gave them were open-ended enough to allow for a lot of creativity. Hence the title of the course.

"Well, it should be an easy class for you," Jesse said.

"Because I'm a good writer?"

"Or . . . 'cause he likes you."

She sighed. "Jesse . . ." Alex hadn't had _those_ feelings for her for a long time.

Jesse didn't carry on the conversation, though. In fact, he seemed perfectly content to just end it as he started kissing her neck. She really needed to work on that poem, but she didn't object as he took the pen and paper from her and set them aside on the bed. Her hands freed, she rubbed his arms and shoulders, feeling his muscles move as he situated himself on top of her, encompassing her completely.

...

 _Isabel let her essay flutter from her hands and drop into the trashcan outside McCosh Hall. It landed face-up, though, so the 63% etched in red permanent marker glared up at her._

 _Her phone rang, and even though she really didn't feel like talking to anyone right now, she couldn't resist answering it when she saw that it was Jesse who was calling. "Hey," she said morosely._

" _Hey," he returned. "How's my girl?"_

 _She exhaled in discouragement. "Not so good. I failed my English essay, and I know I bombed my history test today."_

" _That's alright, baby," he assured her, as if it were no big deal._

" _No, it's not," she argued. "These can't be my grades. They're like . . . Michael's." She shuddered at the thought._

" _College is hard."_

" _It's not supposed to be hard for me." It didn't matter that she hadn't been the one to deliver the valedictorian speech at graduation five months ago; she was the smartest person in her graduating class, and everyone knew it. School had always come so easily to her. Why was college different?_

 _She asked herself the question every night, and every night, she came up with a different answer, a different reason to explain why she was struggling: She was lonely and hadn't made many new friends. She was partying too much. The sleeping pills weren't working. She missed Jesse. She was worried about what he was doing and who he was doing it with while she wasn't there._

" _Isabel?"_

 _She realized she'd been spacing off and apologized. "Sorry."_

" _Don't stress about it, okay?" he soothed. "You'll be fine."_

 _She stared down at the failing grade on that essay, shaking her head in disappointment. Grades like that weren't going to cut it if she wanted to make it here._

 _But then again . . ._ did _she want to make it here? Was the stress and the anxiety and the loneliness really worth it? Princeton had always been her dream, but lately, it had felt like more of a nightmare._

" _I just need to study," she said, remembering how that was what she used to tell Michael. Just study. Try. Put in the effort._

 _But Jesse had other solutions. "Don't bother," he said. "You're smarter than that, Isabel. That's why you got into Princeton. There's an easier way to get your grades up."_

 _Maybe she had been smart once, but right now, she didn't feel smart enough to understand what he was saying. "What do you mean?"_

" _If I were you . . . I wouldn't hit the books," he recommended. "I'd hit the sheets."_

 _She frowned deeply, trying to wrap her mind around what he was suggesting._

...

When had Jesse flipped her over? She didn't even realize she was on her stomach until he was penetrating her from behind. He started thrusting right away, pressing his hands down hard on her backside while he did so.

She knew she really should be working on that poem. But her boyfriend wanted her right now, and it was nice to feel wanted.

...

No matter how hard he tried, Michael just could not understand why somebody would name a school Pound Elementary. _Pound._ Like the kids were stray animals who had been captured and locked up. Chances were it was named after a person, but still . . . it didn't sound inviting.

It actually _was_ deceptively inviting, though. From the moment he walked in, he saw artwork the kids had done hanging on the walls and displayed in trophy cases. Most of it was crap, but the kids were probably proud of it.

Michael sat in the office at Pound, waiting for the school counselor to show up. Vanessa Whitaker was her name, and even though he'd never met her, he knew a lot about her because she was Brody's girlfriend. At the beginning of the school year, when he'd told Brody about needing to find a qualified counselor to supervise his practicum experience, he'd mentioned her right away, said she was really good at her job.

He tugged on the stiff collar of his shirt, glad he'd opted against the tie. But even without a tie, he still hated dressing up. He wanted to make a good impression, though, so dressing up was kind of mandatory.

The door to the office flung open, and in walked a kid with a bloody nose. He had a tissue pressed up against it that was already soaked in red.

"Oh, goodness," the secretary said. "Okay, nurse's office. Right back there."

As if he were accustomed to it, the kid shuffled past their desks and around the corner.

"I think that's the second one today," the secretary told him.

"Really?" The day was only halfway over.

"Some of these kids get bloody noses all the time. I feel sorry for them."

"Yeah." Michael knew from experience that they sucked. They were more inconvenient than anything else. Back when he'd wrestled in junior high and high school, he'd gotten so many bloody noses that they'd eventually just decided to pre-pack his nostrils with tampons before sending him out on the mat.

A minute or so later, an attractive, slender woman came into the office, an exasperated look on her face. "It is a _zoo_ out there," she revealed.

"Oh, Vanessa, this is Michael Guerin," the secretary informed her. "He's here to see you."

"Oh, that's right." She came over to him with her hand out, smiling. "Hi, Michael. I'm Vanessa Whitaker."

He got to his feet and shook her hand. "Hi, Ms. Whitaker. Nice to meet you."

"I didn't expect you to be so early."

He didn't bother pointing out that she was actually running about five minutes late. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. Come on in," she said, motioning him into her office.

 _Déjà vu,_ he thought, sitting down in one of two plush chairs next to her desk. This office reminded him so much of Topolsky's. It was small, cramped, maybe slightly more organized, but not by much. Vanessa had multiple stacks of papers on her desk and at least a dozen sticky notes on her computer, each one containing some reminder of something she had to do.

"Thanks for meeting with me," he told her right away.

"No problem," she said, smoothing out her beige skirt as she sat down. "I have to tell you, I usually don't even entertain the idea of working with practicum students—always seems to be more hassle than it's worth. But Brody had nice things to say about you."

"Yeah, he's been my boss for the past year, so . . ."

"He says you're a good worker."

"I try to be." His job with housing was insanely easy and not entirely unenjoyable, so he wanted to keep it for as long as he was in college.

"You a full-time student?" she asked him.

"Yeah."

"So you'd be taking classes, working part-time for Brody, and coming here twice a week?"

"Twice or three times. It would just depend on my schedule and the schedule you give me. I gotta clock, like, ten hours a week, and I have to have a certain number of hours before the semester's over, so . . ."

"So you're probably looking to get started right away," she concluded.

"Yeah, if you'll have me."

She smiled at him. "Well, it certainly doesn't hurt that you have my boyfriend's recommendation."

"Figured it wouldn't."

"I'd be happy to be your cooperating counselor, Michael. I'm sure there's some documentation I'll have to fill out before we start and as we go along."

"Yeah, I can get that to you."

"Good. Now I would more than willingly show you around today, but unfortunately, things are a little bit hectic."

"Yeah, I saw the kid with the bloody nose."

She groaned. "Tyler has a bloody nose again? What did he run into this time, the mirror or the wall?"

Oh, poor Tyler. "I don't-"

"Things aren't normally quite so crazed around here—we actually run a pretty tight ship," she informed him. "But the fourth graders were supposed to go on a field trip today, and that got cancelled, so they're losing their minds; and the fifth graders were supposed to have a guest speaker, but he didn't show. And our principal's on vacation, so that leaves me to deal with all of it."

"Sounds fun," he mumbled sarcastically.

"The wonderful world of being a guidance counselor."

"Yeah." Until he'd started pursuing the career, he hadn't realized how much was really involved with it. It was definitely a lot more than just sitting behind that desk, listening to kids talk about their problems, although that was probably the most important part.

"Why do you wanna be a counselor?" she asked. "I mean, you can do so many different things with a psychology degree. Clinical psychology, forensic, cognitive. What interests you in school psychology?"

"Well . . ." He suddenly felt like he was in a job interview, even though he wasn't. "I guess, growing up, I always thought my counselors were kinda dicks, you know?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, wrong choice of words," he apologized, then reconsidered. "No, actually, they _were_ dicks. They hated me, and they were very open about hating me. Granted, I wasn't the easiest kid to work with—I understand that. But all throughout middle school and high school, especially, they were just tryin' to fix me, like there was somethin' wrong with me. It was like they'd go out of their way to tell me I wasn't good enough and needed to be better. But that never motivated me; it just . . . made me a bigger douche."

Vanessa laughed lightly, as though she found his honesty refreshing.

"But then my senior year, I went to a different school, had a different counselor. And she really helped me turn things around."

"Where'd you go?" she asked him.

"West Roswell."

She smiled fondly. "Kathleen Topolsky. I know her."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I went to college with her, actually. We took a few classes together, stayed in touch after we graduated."

"Small world," he remarked.

"Very. She's a great counselor. She really knows how to reach kids who are struggling."

"Yeah, and that's who I was," he admitted. "I was going nowhere in life, you know? But she helped me, and . . ." He swallowed hard. "Some other people helped me. And now here I am."

"Here you are," she said. "Seems like you're at a good place in your life."

"I am," he agreed, "and I think I wanna be a counselor 'cause I wanna help kids, especially kids like me, get to that same place."

She nodded fondly, as if she liked the sound of that. "Then I think it's a good thing you'll be here this semester," she said. "We've got a lot of kids who need help."

 _Good,_ he thought. After all, that was the part of being a counselor that most interested him. The other stuff counselors had to do, like the stuff Vanessa was doing today . . . that was an obligation. The actual _counseling_ itself was an opportunity.

He left Vanessa's office feeling good about things. She seemed like the kind of person he could work well with, and she'd assured him that, if he got her the paperwork this week, she'd sign off on being his cooperating counselor and he could start as soon as next week.

On his way out, he stopped by the lunch room, taking a look at all the kids as they shuffled through the line with their trays and sat with their friends at tables. There were a lot of them, and they looked like the younger bunch in general, maybe kindergarteners, first graders, and second graders. They were loud and they were lively, and a couple of the boys were getting in trouble for throwing food across the table.

He smiled. This would be cool.

...

"Will I ever get to hold him?"

"Probably not." Michael cradled his new puppy to his chest like a baby as they walked back into their apartment. Letting Sarah hold him would have required him to hand him over, and he wasn't willing to do that. This little dog was so fucking small that he could hold him in one hand if he wanted to; he only weighed a couple of pounds. He had the traditional tan and white coloring, and while his left ear stuck straight up, the right one was still flopping over a bit. Right now, he was tired, so he could barely keep his eyes open.

"He's so cute," Sarah cooed, petting him adoringly. "He was definitely the cutest one out of all of them."

"Oh, for sure," Michael agreed, nudging the door shut with his foot. His friend who had bred them had already sold two puppies, but there had been four left, and this one had caught Michael's eye right from the start. He'd been the first to come up and sniff his hand and try to climb on his lap. "Look at his face," he said, rubbing his cold, wet nose. "This is the kind of face that drives bitches wild."

"And by bitches, do you mean girls or female dogs?"

"Both. His good looks know no bounds."

"His good looks." Sarah laughed, heading into the kitchen to start in on the breakfast dishes they'd left there that morning.

"I'm serious, he's a stud." Michael sat down at their kitchen table with his dog still tucked close to his chest, and he scratched his belly to try to wake him up a bit.

"You're totally gonna be that guy who's obsessed with his dog, aren't you?" she predicted as she turned on the water to fill up the left side of the sink.

"I already am." He had no problem admitting that.

"You're gonna be that guy who wakes up every morning and, like, makes out with his dog willingly."

"What? Make out with?" He had her for that.

"Yeah, you know, like he'll be on your stomach, licking your face, and you'll act like you want him to stop, but really, you're loving every second of it."

He shrugged. "Hey, why not? Dogs' mouths are cleaner than humans'."

"That's a myth, actually," she informed him, turning towards the sink.

"Don't listen to her, buddy," Michael spoke to his dog quietly. "She's crazy. That's why I call her Crazy Girl."

"I heard that."

He grinned. Yeah, it was only worth saying if she heard it.

"Does he have a name yet?" she asked as she started to scrub their breakfast plates.

"Oh, yeah, I got it all picked out. You ready?"

"Sure."

"Wait for it . . ." He drew it out just for dramatic effect, then announced, "Shanghai."

She looked back over her shoulder, a confused expression on her face. " _Shanghai_?"

"Yeah, in honor of you. Your homeland."

She whirled around, narrowing her eyes at him. "I'm not Chinese."

Now it was his turn to be confused. "Shanghai's in China?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Forever."

"Oh." Damn, here he'd thought it was in Korea. "Oops." Didn't matter how good of a student he'd become over the years; geography still stumped him.

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "So Shanghai, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm gonna call him Shango for short. And his middle name's Jango. So he's Shango Jango Guerin."

"That's a mouthful," she remarked.

"It's awesome! Isn't that right, Shango Jango?" He bounced the little pup up and down a bit, gradually getting his tired eyes to open. "Yeah, he likes it," he declared. "My dog is awesome."

" _Your_ dog?" she echoed.

"Our dog," he corrected.

"Oh, no, let's be real here: He _is_ your dog. I mean, look at you."

He knew he must have looked like he'd gone softer than ever, but who could resist Shango's little face? And his little paws. And his little belly. Shango was the fucking best.

"And since he's your dog, that means, whenever he pees or poops on the carpet, _you_ get to be the one to clean it up," she added, smirking.

"Well, he's not gonna be doin' that for long," Michael assured her, " 'cause I'm gonna toilet train him."

"What? _Toilet_ train him?"

"Yes, I saw it on Youtube. It can be done."

"Oh, okay, well, good luck with that." She refocused on the dishes again, turning her back to him.

"Don't worry, Shango," he said, holding his puppy up to his shoulder, patting his back as if he were burping him. "I believe in you." He petted his soft fur for a few seconds, then asked his girlfriend, "Hey, you hungry?"

"Starved," she replied without hesitation.

"Oh, I'd better take Shango away from you then," he joked, standing and slinking away from the table. "I know what you people like to eat."

" _That_ is like the most racist joke _ever_!" she roared, but still, she had a smile on her face.

"Then why are you trying not to laugh?" He knew his girl well. She always acted all pissed when he made his off-color jokes, but in reality, she had a good sense of humor and was more than willing to play along with it.

Pretending to be angry, she chucked the dish towel at him and missed. He chuckled as he brought Shango around their kitchen wall to the bed so he could tuck him in there for a while. Sarah had insisted he sleep in his own little doggy bed, but . . . come on, no way was that happening.


	4. Chapter 4

Giving feedback to students' writing was a lengthy process. Sometimes Alex wondered if he was spending more time writing out his feedback to them than they were writing their assignments in the first place. He doubted some of them even read through anything he jotted down. But some of them did, he was sure, and he liked to think that his compliments to their writing motivated them and that his constructive criticism helped them improve.

He was in the middle of a stack of creative non-fiction pieces they'd turned in last week when he spied Isabel's paper at the bottom of the pile. She'd turned it in late, of course, and it was significantly shorter than almost everyone else's. Her assignments were always the hardest for him to grade, because he'd read her writing back when it had been so much better.

"Knock, knock," a familiar voice rang out. He looked up as Liz Parker let herself into his office.

"Hey," he said, happy to see her.

"Hey." She was still wearing the black shirt and khaki pants she wore as a work uniform, so she must have just been swinging by. "Brought someone to see you." She stepped aside, holding her daughter's hand as she waddled into his office. "Go say hi to Uncle Alex, Scarlet," she urged.

Alex moved his chair to the side of his desk, bending down with his arms open. "Come here, kiddo," he said.

Scarlet let go of her mom's hand and scuttled towards him. She tripped on her own feet right in front of him but got herself back up and reached up towards him.

"Oh, look at you." He lifted her into his lap, bouncing her up and down on his knee. As usual, Liz had her daughter dressed up. She was wearing a beige dress and matching lace headband this time. Scarlet always looked like one of those calendar babies. She sure was cute enough to be one.

"Say hi," Liz urged her little girl.

Scarlet smiled up at him and babbled a little nonsense, but he pinpointed "hi" in there somewhere.

"I heard it."

"Oh, you should've heard her this morning. I was setting out some doughnuts, and she looked at it and said, 'Mine.'"

"Oh." He looked at the little girl with wide eyes. "Demanding little thing, aren't you?"

"She loves doughnuts," Liz said. "Actually, she loves all sweets."

"Good thing you can bake then."

"Yeah, good thing," Liz agreed, reaching down to fiddle with Scarlet's headband. She always wanted her looking perfect. "Anyway, I had class after work today, but that got done early, so I swung by the daycare to pick up Scarlet, and I figured we'd just swing by here and say hi to you before we head home."

"Hi!" Scarlet said loudly.

"Hi," Alex returned, squeezing her pudgy little side gently. "Good job."

"I hope we're not interrupting anything," Liz said, glancing at the papers littering his desk.

"Oh, no, you're fine," he assured her.

"Looks like you've got a lot to grade."

"Yeah. Can you believe it? We're only in the fourth week of the semester, and already I'm behind. But I'm never too busy to see my favorite girl." He tapped Scarlet's soft little nose, then nuzzled it with his own.

Just then, Leanna stepped into the office, clearing her throat. "And here I thought your wife would be your favorite," she said.

"Let's just call it a tie," he suggested.

"Hmm." Leanna then looked over at Liz. "Hi, Liz," she said.

"Hey, Leanna," Liz returned. "How are you?"

"Good."

"How's work? I heard you were teaching a yoga class now."

"And Zumba," Leanna added. "The yoga class is full, but Zumba enrollment's a little low."

"Oh, well, I'm sure it'll pick up," Liz said positively.

"Hopefully." Leanna returned her focus to Alex then, giving him an impatient look. "Do you have a minute?" she asked.

"Uh . . ." He looked down at Scarlet, then up at both her and Liz. Suddenly that small office felt even smaller. It was like everyone wanted his attention.

"We're gonna go," Liz said, lifting her daughter up off his lap. "Say bye-bye, Scarlet. Say bye-bye."

"Bye-bye," she cooed, giving him a little wave.

"Bye, Scarlet." He smiled and watched them leave.

Once they were gone, Leanna shut the door and came forward to sit on his lap, kissing him deeply. "Mmm," she moaned. "How often do you hang out with them?"

"We weren't hanging out. They just stopped by."

"Well, whatever," she dismissed, threading her hands through her blonde hair. "Now that they're gone, maybe you can spend some time with me. For once."

"For once?" He frowned. Yeah, things had been hectic since they'd tied the knot this summer, but he carved out as much time as he possibly could for her.

"When can you leave?" she asked him.

"Not until 5:00."

"What?" She pouted.

"I have office hours."

"Alex, no students are here," she pointed out.

"But what if somebody comes by? It'd look really bad if I wasn't even here."

"No one's gonna come by," she persisted. "Just come home."

"I can't. I have to stay." He wasn't just a student at this university anymore; he was a teacher. He had obligations now he hadn't had before.

She frowned, clearly upset. "Ever since we got married, it's like you have no time for me," she complained. "You're always busy with things like . . . teaching."

"It's my job, Leanna."

"And taking your own classes," she went on, "and being Liz Parker's best friend. And being Uncle Alex." She rolled her eyes.

"Honey, I'm sorry if you feel neglected," he apologized. "I'll leave here right at 5:00, be home by 5:15. I won't even bring any papers to grade, so we'll have the whole night to ourselves." He rubbed his hands up and down her back, hoping her body would start to lose some of its tension. "How's that sound?"

She sighed dramatically. "Fine, I guess."

"Okay." He tried to kiss her on the lips, but she turned her head to the side at last second, and he got her cheek instead.

...

Liz talked to Scarlet as she carried her from the English department to the parking lot across the street. "You're just the prettiest little girl, you know that?" she squealed. "The prettiest little girl." She tickled her sides, eliciting a bubbling giggle out of her daughter. "Yes, you are!"

She was almost back to her car when she saw an all too familiar figure striding through the parking lot. Baggy jeans, t-shirt he'd probably slept in last night, uncombed curly brown hair . . . it could only be her ex-boyfriend, Sean, who she'd thankfully managed to avoid running into since they'd ended things at the beginning of summer.

Even though she tried to duck behind a big minivan, he saw her and scurried towards her right away. "Liz, hey!"

"Hey." She put on her best happy face. Seeing Sean wasn't really a bad thing; it was just . . . awkward. All sorts of awkward. When they'd split, it had become blatantly apparent that his feelings for her were much stronger than hers had ever been for him, and she felt guilty about that.

"Wow," he said, motioning to Scarlet. "She got bigger."

"Yeah, she grows fast."

"Hey, Scarlet," he said, but she didn't pay any attention to him, so instead of trying to get her attention, he asked Liz, "How are things goin'? Seems like the bakery's still doin' well."

"Yeah, it is," she agreed. She'd successfully passed the one year mark of owning her own business now, and she felt good about the direction it was going. Still, she wasn't looking to stand there and talk to Sean about it.

"I've stopped in a few times," he admitted, "but you haven't been there."

"Yeah, I have a couple people who work for me now."

"That's cool."

"Yeah." She smiled pleasantly, not sure what else to say. _Awkward, awkward, awkward . . ._

"Are you takin' classes now, too?" he asked.

"One. A business class," she replied. "Are you?" She'd never known him to venture onto campus unless it was for a frat party.

"Yeah, I'm taking Zumba," he informed her.

"Oh." She cringed. Yeah, this was more like the immature Sean she remembered. "I meant, like, an educational class."

"Oh, no, not that," he said flippantly. "Not yet. Figured I'd _ease_ myself into it. So . . . Zumba. At the rec center. It's surprisingly exhausting."

"Are you taking it with Leanna?" she asked him. Leanna was a fitness buff; she'd been a track star before graduating last year, so her Zumba class was probably more like Zumba on steroids.

"Yeah, you know Leanna?"

"Yeah, she's, uh, Alex's wife, actually."

"Alex?" he echoed. "Oh, yeah, that's where I'd seen her before. Huh." He nodded and shrugged. "Dude didn't do too bad for himself."

"No." Leanna was . . . very pretty.

"So I guess that means you two aren't knockin' boots then," he concluded.

"What? Sean . . ." What a way to word it.

"Well, I always thought that's why you broke up with me, so you could be with him."

She sighed, rehashing it for his own benefit. "Alex is my best friend, Sean. We dated for, like, a couple months when I was nineteen. _Nothing_ serious."

"Sorta like us, huh?"

"Sean . . ." She should have known he was going to try to make her feel bad about putting an end to things, but she had no regrets. "You weren't ready to be with me, to be a father figure for Scarlet. We've been through this." Thing was, Sean was actually a really nice guy. He had a big heart, but he didn't always use his brain. When they'd been together, he'd just gone to a few too many parties and come to her house drunk a few too many times afterward. He was like a big kid.

"Yeah, I know," he grumbled, "we've been through this. But if Alex and Leanna are married, and you're not seeing anyone . . . who knows? Maybe we could-"

"No, Sean," she cut him off.

"Are you seeing someone else?"

"That's really none of your business."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders slumped forward dejectedly. "Alright, well . . . it was worth a shot," he muttered.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I should've known it wouldn't work." He started backing away, meeting her gaze disappointedly. "I'm not him." He managed a smile, the kind meant to conceal hurt feelings, and turned, mumbling, "See ya, Liz," as he walked away.

She let out a heavy exhale, wishing there was a way to let Sean down without hurting his feelings in the process. But there never had been. He was an emotional guy.

But he was right about one thing: He wasn't him.

...

Despite the vast array of attempting aromas circulating throughout YellowBrix Restaurant, Michael couldn't even concentrate on food. His mind was only on one thing.

"I wonder what Shango's doing right now," he mused.

Sarah put down her menu and gave him an incredulous look. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, probably sleeping," she supposed, "barking, pooping . . . chewing my shoes."

He immediately jumped to the defense of his new canine companion. "Okay, that wasn't his fault. He thought it was one of his toys."

"Well, that's because you bought him, like, five-thousand toys, so now he thinks everything is one of his toys."

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "You know, I can't help but feel like you were more excited about getting a puppy before we actually got one."

"Oh, no, don't get me wrong, I love Shango," she clarified, "and I think he's one of the cutest puppies ever. But he's a lot of work. I don't think he's gonna be all that easy to train."

"Don't worry about it," Michael told her, leaning back in his chair. "I'm a professional dog-trainer."

She gave him a bewildered look and remarked, "You're a freak. That's what you are," before glancing down at the menu again.

He laughed lightly, choosing not to dispute that. As much as he would have loved to keep talking about his dog, he had to ask her about something else, so he changed the subject. "Hey, so do you wanna tag along with me to Roswell for the weekend, stay at my mom's house?"

She looked back up at him curiously. "Why?"

"Well, so we can show off Shango, of course."

She rolled her eyes.

" _And_. . . I think I need to kinda, you know, lay down the law with Teenie." He twisted his fist against his palm, exaggerating how tough he'd be on her. "Crack down."

"Is she still acting out?"

"Yeah. I think my mom's kind of at a loss for what to do with her. And I kinda wanna run into Nicholas and just intimidate the shit outta him."

She cringed. "Yeah, I kinda wish she wasn't still dating him. Isn't he in ninth grade now?"

"Yep." Michael didn't like it. Didn't like it one bit.

"Yeah, no eighth grade girl should be dating a high school boy. That's . . ." She trailed off and shuddered.

"Yeah, so I kinda wanna spend some time with her, talk to her," he said, "just make sure her head's on straight." The last thing he wanted was for his little sister to start making the same mistakes he'd made, go down the same path he had. It was like . . . counseling. He wanted to counsel his little sister.

"Yeah, we can go," she said. "I'll get off work."

"Okay. Thanks." These little weekends at home were always more bearable when she went along with him.

"Ugh," she groaned, picking up her menu again. "I don't know what to get."

"Rib eye," he suggested. That was what he always got at this restaurant. "You like to eat, right?"

She smiled sweetly. "You remember. Our first date."

"Yeah." Hell, that date was hard to forget.

...

 _Michael closed his menu and told the waiter, "I'll have the rib eye steak meal."_

" _And how do you take your steak?" the waiter inquired._

" _Uh, medium rare."_

" _You know, that sounds good," Sarah said, closing her menu, too. "I'll have the same, but well-done."_

" _Alright, we'll get that out to you," the waiter said, taking back their menus._

" _Thank you," Sarah chirped politely as he left the table._

 _Michael stared at her in astonishment, thinking she couldn't possibly know how big the rib eye meal was._

" _What?" she said as if she could see what he was thinking. "I like to eat."_

 _He shrugged. No harm in that; so did he. Plus, a girl who ate to her heart's content was always more attractive than a girl who claimed to be full after eating two peas._

" _So," she said, resting her elbow on the table, "root beer, huh?"_

" _What?" He looked down at his drink, which was already nearly empty. "Oh, yeah." His damn favorite._

" _Tess told me you were more of a beer guy."_

" _Well, I was," he confessed, "back in the day." He hadn't drunk alcohol for a long time, though. Not all summer. Not once during these first two and a half months of college. And he didn't intend to start back up again, not until he was sure he could handle it, drink without getting out of control._

" _What else did Tess tell you?" he asked her, a little wary of the fact that the person who had set up this first date between them was someone who, at various stages of knowing him, had vowed to rip his head off if he pissed her off too much._

" _Well, she said you're athletic," Sarah revealed._

" _True."_

" _And that you're good-looking,"_

" _Very true."_

" _And that you have a lot of unresolved emotional baggage you're dealing with."_

 _He tensed. Yeah, that was true, too, but . . . he sure as hell didn't wanna talk about it. "And you still agreed to go out with me, huh?"_

" _Well, she also said that, deep down, you're a really good guy," Sarah added, "and that lately she's been impressed with you."_

" _Huh," he grunted, not sure why she would be. Lately, he sure as hell hadn't felt . . . impressive. Sure, he was doing alright with his classes, but . . . he wasn't doing much else. It was pretty much just go to class, eat, study, sleep; then wake up and repeat the same thing all over again._

" _So how do you know Tess?" he asked. All Tess had told him was that she knew a really nice, smart, pretty girl named Sarah who she wanted him to go out with. And somehow, she'd gotten him to agree to it._

" _I work at Chancellor Rehabilitation," she explained, "where Kyle's going for physical therapy."_

" _Oh." Well . . . that was one way to meet._

" _Seeing him go through all that seems to be kind of tough on Tess, so sometimes while he's working on stuff, she'll come spend time with me, and we'll talk and try to get her mind on something else."_

 _He nodded, knowing firsthand how difficult Kyle's injury had been for Tess to deal with. She'd quit cheerleading so she could help take care of him more. Her senior year of high school wasn't much of a senior year anymore. She was missing out on a lot of things she enjoyed._

" _They seem really nice," Sarah said. "I haven't gotten to interact with Kyle much, but I remember seeing his injury online and on Sports Center and all those shows."_

" _Yeah." It wasn't exactly the Sports Center coverage Kyle had had in mind during his first and only college football game._

" _You guys went to Alabama, right?" she asked._

" _For a little while, yeah."_

" _So why'd you come back to New Mexico?"_

 _He sighed, remembering how hard it had been for Kyle to have to make that decision, how he'd agonized over it and dreaded it. "Well, without football, there was really no reason for Kyle to stay out there. It just made more sense for him to come back home, be closer to his dad. But he came to Carlsbad because it's closer to the treatment center."_

" _So that's why Kyle came back," she recapped, "but what about you?"_

 _He shrugged. In contrast, the decision to leave Alabama_ hadn't _been a tough decision for him. "Well, I gotta stay with Kyle," he said simply. "He's my best friend. He's always looked out for me. Now . . . it's my turn to repay the favor, I guess."_

" _Hmm." She smiled softly. "That means you're a really good friend."_

" _Well . . ." He was the dead weight Kyle had dragged around for eighteen years; nothing more. "I don't know if I'd go that far."_

" _No, you are," she insisted. "I wish I had a friend like that, but we moved around too much growing up for me to really stop and get to know people."_

" _Where's your family live now?" he asked. It was sort of driving him crazy, because he couldn't quite put a finger on it. She definitely had some Asian in her; that much was obvious. China, maybe? Japan? Hell if he knew._

" _My mom and dad and little brother live in Las Cruces," she told him. "But before that we lived in Tucson, Phoenix, Albuquerque."_

 _He tensed briefly._ Albuquerque. _He'd driven up there once this past summer looking for . . ._

" _So . . ." He cleared his throat, trying not to let his thoughts drift. "Where are your parents from?"_

" _Well, they're from Phoenix, but technically, if you wanna trace it back further, my family's from South Korea."_

" _Really?" Well, there was the answer to his burning question. He frowned, trying to make sense of it. He had an image of that place in his mind that just didn't jive with who Sarah Nguyen seemed to be. "You ever been there?"_

" _Yeah, my grandparents still live over there, so I've visited them. It's nice."_

" _It is?" Then why the hell were they always talking crap about it on the news? "I thought it was all cut off from the rest of the world, like the dictator and no cell phones and shit."_

" _That's North Korea," she informed him._

" _Yeah, but same thing, right?"_

" _It's an entirely different country." She tilted her head to the side, giving him a skeptical look._

" _Oh."_ Oops, _he thought._ Strike one. _"Well, what do you do in South Korea?"_

" _Well . . ." she replied, "we do our homework for fun. We all grow up wanting to work at Samsung. And every other night, we eat dogs."_

 _His mouth dropped open in horror. "Fuck, are you serious?"_

" _No, those are stereotypes," she assured him. "You can't believe any of that."_

" _Oh, thank God." He breathed a sigh of relief. "The dog thing was a deal-breaker. I know some of your people eat it, but-"_

"Your people _?" she cut him off in horror. "Okay, Michael, I'm sorry, but you sound so ignorant right now."_

" _I am," he openly admitted. No point in hiding it. He'd never given a damn about learning about other countries or other cultures. Never would._

 _She half-groaned, half-sighed. "Okay, well . . ." Suddenly she started looking around the restaurant, like she was looking for the easiest escape route._

Uh-oh. Strike two, _he thought. This was going south fast. The only way he could think of to salvage it was to just be completely honest with her. "Look, Sarah, I'm not a perfect guy," he informed her. "So if that's what you're looking for, it's not me. I say stupid shit, like I did just now. I do stupid things. I make mistakes. I screw up; I mess things up all the time."_

" _What did you mess up?" she questioned._

No, _he thought._ Don't ask me that.

 _For a split-second, he was back there in his head, reliving the horrible memory. A broken bridge on a rainy night. A frightened scream. A fall._

 _He snapped back to the present, where there was only a beautiful girl and a restaurant, and a semi-concerned look on her face as she quietly prompted, "Michael?"_

Say something else, _he told himself. There were just some things he couldn't talk about yet, maybe not ever. But there were plenty of other things he'd screwed up that would satisfy her curiosity. "I cheated on this girl named Isabel," he blurted. "Twice."_

 _Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"_

" _Yeah. Then she made porn, and now she's at Princeton." He sighed in resignation, knowing that that had more than likely been strike three. "That's probably not the kind of thing I should tell a girl on a first date, huh?"_

 _Sarah leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest, looking completely closed off to him. "No. Probably not."_

Damn. _He should have known he wasn't ready to get back out on the dating scene again. It was still too soon. Maybe it always would be. This was now just another thing in a long line of things he'd managed to screw up just by being himself._

...

Michael nudged his girlfriend's foot beneath the table, getting a kick out of how pissed she'd been at him by the end of that date. She'd barely eaten anything and asked for a box for leftovers halfway through the meal, claiming that she was feeling sick. But he knew she hadn't been sick at all; she'd just been ready to leave.

"North Korea, South Korea," he reminded her.

"Oh god," she rolled her eyes. "You're lucky you got a second date."

He knew he was. By the end of that first one, he'd felt certain he wouldn't get another chance.

...

" _Sorry you're not feelin' well."_

" _Yeah." Sarah cringed. "Too bad."_

 _He wasn't an idiot; he knew she was relieved it was ending and probably wanted to put this whole disastrous date behind her. "That was bad, wasn't it?" he said, stopping with her outside the door to her dorm room. "That was a bad date."_

" _No," she said unconvincingly. "It was . . ." She looked like she was trying to think of a polite way to say it, but finally she just blurted, "Okay, yeah, it was bad."_

" _I felt like I was doin' okay until I started talkin' about North Korea."_

" _Yeah, that was definitely a turning point."_

 _He sighed, bummed that he'd blown it. Sarah was a hot girl, and he'd been hoping that, at the very least, they could maybe be a casual thing for a couple of weeks. That was all he was looking for right now. Casual._

 _But then again . . . Sarah seemed pretty cool. Smart. Nice._ Way _too good for someone like him. She deserved someone who could offer her something more than casual. Someone who could offer her his whole heart instead of a heart that had already shattered into a million pieces._

" _Well, thanks," he said._

 _She looked up at him confusedly. "For what?"_

" _Just . . . for goin' out with me. It's been a while since I went on a date with a girl, so . . ." He shrugged. Yeah, it had been a while. His last date had involved a coffee shop and open mic night. Looking back . . . he wished he'd never gone on that date._

" _You're not horrible company," she informed him. "You're just . . ."_

" _Immature?" he filled in. "Rude? Irresponsible?" Yeah, he'd heard it all before._

" _No," she said. "You're just . . . you."_

Too bad, _he thought. Sometimes it would've been a lot easier to be someone else._ _"Well, thanks for not hating me," he told her in all sincerity, "and for putting up with me. And for not making me pay for your rib eye steak. That was really expensive."_

 _She laughed lightly, and for a second, it seemed like she was warming up to him again, but still, she said, "I'm sorry. I just don't think we . . ."_

" _It's fine," he assured her, then parroting what had once been said to him. "Maybe if things were different."_

 _Were things ever going to be different for him?_

 _She tilted her head to the side and looked up at him with . . . intrigue? Was she seeing something, some expression on his face or in his eyes that hinted at all the hurt he was still feeling, all the loneliness he kept trying to hold inside? Whatever she saw, it softened her, and when he tried to walk away, she said his name quietly to bring him back. "Michael."_

 _He turned around slowly, not sure why she wouldn't just let him go._

 _She smiled just slightly and said, "You can call me."_

 _He stared at her in utter disbelief. Had he really just scraped a second date out of this? Was she seriously willing to give it another shot, even after he'd offended her and stereotyped her and owned up to all sorts of horrible personality traits? Why would she want him? He was a mess._

 _But then again . . . maybe he didn't have to stay that way._

...

"I love you," Michael told his girlfriend, not sure if he said that enough. Nearly two years ago, she'd given him a second chance, and he was so grateful for it.

"I love you, too," she reciprocated right away, with no need to question why he was saying it.

Thank God they'd had a second date, because that had been a good one, enough to get them past their first date. They were _well_ past that now. They were past all of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Leave it to Shango to get a smile out of Kyle. It wasn't a huge smile, but it was there. As he sat on the couch, petting the little puppy, scratching him behind the ears, he actually didn't look completely miserable for once.

Michael stood in the kitchen with Tess, watching his friend and the dog interact. It was good to see Kyle be responsive to something, even if it only lasted a little while.

"That's a cute dog, Michael," Tess remarked. "I'm glad you brought him over."

"Kyle seems to like him," he noted.

"Yeah. You know, they say animals are really therapeutic."

He believed that. Animals were never angry at you or disappointed. They just loved you, and that was enough. "You ever think about gettin' Kyle a pet?" he asked, figuring it might help if Kyle _always_ had something therapeutic around.

"Yeah, but then that'd just be another thing for me to take care of," she said.

"Get a cat. Cats pretty much take care of themselves."

She made a face. "Cats are kinda bitchy."

He gave her a pointed look, resisting the urge to say something.

"What, I'm kinda bitchy?" she interpreted.

"I didn't say anything."

She playfully shoved him aside, grabbed her purse and keys from the counter, and announced, "Alright, I'm gonna head to the grocery store. Kyle, you want anything?"

"No," he replied simply as Shango started pawing at his chest.

"Kay, I'll be back then." She gave Michael a small wave and slipped out the door.

Michael headed into the living room, taking a seat in the old recliner Kyle sometimes fell asleep in. "You like him?" he asked Kyle.

"Yeah, seems like a good dog."

Shango moved to the edge of the couch cushions, peering down at the floor unsurely, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to jump.

"Come here, Shango," Michael coaxed, hitting his knee to get his attention.

Shango carefully put one paw out, then withdrew it, then bravely hopped down. Big jump for a little guy. He scampered over to Michael, yipping and yapping for attention.

"Good boy," Michael said, rubbing his head. "He's smart, too," he bragged. "Check this out: Shango, sit."

The puppy just looked up at him for a few seconds, then came forward and started nuzzling head against Michael's ankle.

"Well, it worked this morning." It had probably been luck more than anything else. "So what do you say, man? You ready to go on that walk?"

Kyle didn't respond for a few seconds, then look at Michael curiously. "Wait, are you askin' me or the dog?"

"You," he clarified. "Shango's gotta go do his business. You comin' with us?"

Kyle looked around, like he was searching for a distraction. But the TV wasn't on for once, so he couldn't claim there was some game he wanted to be watching. Michael knew he had him.

They didn't venture out far. Couldn't. Kyle's mobility was still extremely limited. According to his doctors and physical therapists, though, he should have been able to handle walking around the block by now, but Kyle had yet to make it to the end of the street. Not because he couldn't, but because he got frustrated with how long it took.

Indeed, fifteen minutes into their walk, they hadn't even made it a block. Kyle's couldn't take big steps, and he couldn't move fast. But with his cane, at least he wouldn't lose his balance.

"Yeah, Shango, you mark your territory!" Michael exclaimed, trying to keep the mood light. His little puppy didn't quite understand that boy dogs were supposed to lift their legs when they peed, so he was still squatting. But that was actually okay, because if Michael's toilet training efforts panned out, he'd have to squat all the time anyway.

Kyle squinted his eyes against the bright glare of the sun, complaining, "I'm gettin' tired."

 _No, you're not,_ Michael thought, knowing better. _You're getting impatient._ "Hang in there, man," he urged. "You're doin' good."

"No, I think I need my chair."

"Well, that's back at the house," Michael reminded him. He purposefully hadn't brought it along so that Kyle didn't have the option of sitting in it. Plus, Shango's leash would have gotten caught in the wheels.

"Then let's go back," Kyle suggested.

"You can make it down to the end of the street," Michael encouraged. "Then we can go back."

Kyle stopped momentarily, breathing heavily, and Michael started to understand that he hadn't really been lying when he said he was tired. Just these few steps were exhausting for him.

"Need some help?" Michael asked, holding out his hand.

Kyle shook his head, gingerly stepping past him. "End of the street," he reluctantly agreed. "No further. Then we go back."

"Deal." Michael had no problem with that compromise. It wasn't quite a block, but it was still a pretty good distance for Kyle at this point. Maybe having Shango along helped. Michael would have to bring him along more often.

"So how's Tess doing?" he asked his friend, even though he already had a pretty good idea. He just wanted to see if Kyle knew, or if he was completely oblivious to all the crap she was dealing with.

"She's alright," Kyle mumbled, looking down at his feet, concentrating on each labored step.

" 'cause she seems kinda stressed out lately," Michael remarked, understating it. "You know?"

Kyle didn't say anything.

"Sarah says she's not really likin' her job," Michael went on, wondering if this was news to Kyle or if Tess came home and told him about it at all. "Crappy coworkers or somethin'."

"Yeah, I don't know," Kyle muttered.

"You don't know?" Michael echoed. "You used to always know how Tess was feeling."

Kyle gave him a hard look. "Yeah, well, I used to run a football field in thirteen seconds, too," he snapped. "Things change."

Michael stopped walking while Shango took some time to sniff out a bush he was interested in. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said. "It's just . . . you know, Tess is your fiancée, and this hasn't been easy on her, either."

"Yeah, I know that," Kyle said dismissively, continuing on down the sidewalk, looking like he was trying to pick up the pace. But the beads of sweat forming on his forehead were evidence of his struggle, and eventually, after just a few more steps, he stopped, panting for air, bearing the majority of his weight on his right side. He pressed down on his cane so hard, it wobbled.

Michael tugged Shango's leash to pull him away from the bush and stepped up to his friend's side. "Come on," he said, holding out his arm. Kyle grabbed on for the added support, and together they inched along.

...

Isabel wasn't expecting much out of her creative non-fiction piece. She'd written it at last minute last week and barely remembered to print it off to hand in. It wasn't the most ingenious topic, nor was it her most vivid word choice or fluent sentence structure. But hopefully it would be enough to earn a passing grade.

It wasn't. Alex handed their papers back to them at the end of class, and hers had a sixty-eight percent marked on the top of it. Along with a sole comment he'd scrawled: _You can do better._

She clutched the sides of the paper tightly in her hands, feeling like it was Princeton all over again. Except sexual favors wouldn't get this grade up. Not that that had worked when she'd tried it back then, either. But with that wedding ring on Alex's left hand, she was pretty much guaranteed to have to work to get her grade up rather than flirt.

When class was over, she stayed behind, swaying up towards the front table as he packed up his stuff. "Alex," she said. "What was so bad about it?"

"About what?" he asked. "Your writing?"

"Yeah."

He shrugged. "It wasn't bad; it just . . . wasn't as good as it could have been."

She sighed frustratedly. "Okay, I feel like you're comparing the writing I'm doing in this class to the story I wrote and had you read my senior year, and that's not really fair. I worked on that for months; you only gave us two weeks to write this."

"I'm grading you based on what you're turning in," he reassured her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He stuck a folder of new papers into his backpack and zipped it shut. "Did you ever change it, by the way?" he asked. "The ending to your story."

"What?" She hadn't glanced at that old thing in years.

"Well, originally, you wrote it so the characters ended up together," he recapped. "But I said I didn't think they would. So did they?"

She lowered her head, looking down at her feet. "No, they didn't." She had never gone back and done any editing to her novel, and she didn't want to. Why not let the fictional version of herself and Michael live happily ever after? How nice that must have been for them.

"So you re-wrote it?" Alex asked for clarification. "You might look into getting it published."

"No, I—I didn't rewrite it," she stammered. "I got too busy telling other stories. On film."

Alex groaned, shaking his head in disgust. "Yeah, I'm not a big fan of those stories." He slung his backpack over his shoulders and started to head out of the room.

"Is that what this is about?" she called after him.

He stopped in the doorway. "What do you mean?"

"The whole _you-can-do-better_ comment. Is it just about my writing, or is it about my life?"

Alex chuckled low in his throat. "No, it's just about your writing, Isabel. Although now that I think about it, I guess it could apply to both." He left her to ponder that as he exited the classroom.

 _That's where you're wrong, Alex,_ she thought morosely. She _had_ tried to do better. She'd tried it for an entire semester at Princeton. And like so many other things in her life, it just hadn't worked out.

...

Apparently there was some kind of competitive Frisbee team on campus, and Fly was dead-set on trying out for it. Michael agreed to help him, but he regretted it when he realized just how much help his uncoordinated, easily-distracted friend was going to need.

Michael tossed the flying disk for about the tenth time, thinking that maybe—just _maybe_ —Fly might actually manage to catch it this time. But once again, he couldn't keep up with it, and it landed behind him.

"Dude, you suck!" Michael shouted at him.

"No, bad throw, man!" Fly insisted, retrieving the Frisbee. But as usual, before throwing it back, he got distracted by two hot girls strolling by, and as also as usual, he managed to scare them off when he said something. This time it was something Michael didn't know how to translate: " _Que quieres chuparme la polla?"_ The girls must not have known what he meant, either, because they just rolled their eyes at him and continued on their way.

"What'd you say to them?" Michael asked.

Fly trotted towards him, grinning slyly. "I asked if they wanted to suck my dick."

"Oh . . ." Michael made a face, repulsed by the image that suddenly entered his head. "See, that's creepy. That's why you don't have a girlfriend, man."

"That's why I'm horny, man."

"You need to get laid."

"I'm tryin'." He pointed behind Michael's shoulder and said, "Oh, hey, speakin' of getin' laid, here comes Monk. Monk!"

Michael turned around as his less animated friend approached them. He had his face buried in his phone, probably playing some sort of game. When Michael stepped in front of him to block his progress, Monk literally ran right into him. "Oh, hey, guys," he said distractedly. "Just one second, I gotta play a little more."

Michael looked down at the screen, disgusted by what he saw. "Monk. Are you playing that damn Kim Kardashian game again?"

"What? No." Monk quickly stuffed his phone in his pocket, fooling no one. "Whatever. Fuck you, man. I like what I like."

"Did you like Big Cedar?" Michael teased.

"No." Monk shook his head. "He wasn't who I thought she was."

"No shit?" Michael joked around. The use of two opposite pronouns in that sentence should have made that perfectly clear.

"Wait, why's he called Big Cedar?" Fly asked.

Michael shot him a look. Wasn't it obvious?

"Oh, shit," Fly swore. "Did he try to do you?"

"Well, he expressed interest," Monk related dryly. "Obviously I'm hard to resist because of my sparkling personality. But I turned him down. It's for the best."

" _Definitely_ for the best," Michael agreed emphatically. _Big Cedar_. That just sounded . . . painful.

"Good, now I'm not the only one without a girlfriend," Fly said. "Although . . ." His eyes drifted behind Monk and Michael, and he loosening his belt. " _Ay, mami._ "

"What?" Michael looked over his shoulder, and he saw who Fly was staring at. Isabel was coming out of the English department. She was dressed in a short cream-colored sweater dress and black boots that went all the way up to mid-thigh. She looked stylish . . . but slutty.

"Yo, _chico_ , you really hit that?" Fly asked him.

Michael tore his eyes away from his ex. "Yes, numerous times, various ways."

"How various?" Fly asked, practically salivating. "Like the chocolate speedway?"

Michael gave him a look.

Fly started to explain, "You know, like . . ."

"I know what the chocolate speedway is." No, he'd never done it _that_ way. Not with Isabel, at least.

"What's the chocolate speedway?" Monk openly asked.

"It's the kind of sex Big Cedar wanted to have with you," Michael informed him.

"Oh." Monk nodded contemplatively, his tone never indicating any surprise, not even when he asked, "Girls do that?"

"Some girls," Fly said. "I dated this real nasty chick back in the day, man. If I wasn't bangin' her ass, she was suckin' my balls."

"Alright, if you say so, Fly," Michael said dismissively, knowing for a fact that Fly was probably just exaggerating.

"And that girl . . ." Fly moved past Michael, watching Isabel walk away, his mouth literally open, drool about to come out. "She'd do all that shit, man."

"Well, she didn't back in the day," Michael informed him. He wished she wasn't doing it now, but . . . she'd made her own choices.

"You ever watch her videos, man?" Fly asked.

"No, I don't have to. I had the real thing," he reminded him.

Fly glared at him. "Oh, you lucky son of a bitch."

Michael laughed boastfully and tossed the Frisbee again.

"Fuck, Mike, I wasn't ready!" Fly yelled as he chased after it. He lunged for it too soon and ended up falling flat on his face on the grass. He slammed his fists into the ground and swore, "Dammit!"

...

Michael liked his apartment. It was pretty much just a studio apartment, had a very open floorplan, but that was plenty of space for him and Sarah. In the living room, they had enough room for their couch, coffee table, and big screen TV, and this year, they'd added in a desk, because Sarah was one of those oddballs who hated using her laptop computer on her lap. Connected to living room was the kitchen, which was probably more of a kitchenette, but even it had enough area for a small table and four chairs. Behind the stove and the sink was a dividing wall with a little window that allowed you to look further back in the apartment to where their bedroom area was set up; and off in the top-left corner of the space was their bathroom, the only region of the apartment that was its own separate room.

Michael spent many nights waiting in that bathroom while Sarah changed into some sexy lingerie for him. She'd amassed quite a collection of silky, lacy, and even sheer bras and panties since she'd started dating him—hell, most were gifts he'd purchased—and she liked to wear them for him. He never did understand why it took her so long to decide on which items to wear, though, since he usually didn't let her wear them for long.

She enticed him that night by informing him that she'd done a little shopping on her way home from work, and she had a new outfit she wanted to wear for him. While she changed, he headed into the bathroom, stripped down to his boxers, and took a phone call from his mom while he brushed his teeth.

"Yeah, Sarah's gotta work late Friday," he told her after he spit his toothpaste into the sink, "so we'll probably just drive up Saturday morning, get there around noon."

"Okay, sounds like a plan," she chimed. "I'll have lunch ready by then."

 _Awesome,_ he thought as he rinsed off his toothbrush. Even though Sarah was a great cook and college food was a delightful smorgasbord of grease and calories, like any kid, he missed his mom's home-cooked meals. Her meatloaf. Her pulled pork sandwiches. It made his mouth water just thinking about it.

"I think Tina's excited to see you," she told him.

"Good, I'm gonna lecture her."

"You're a good big brother."

He snorted. "Yeah, nowadays." He sure as hell hadn't been back in high school, when he'd stumbled in drunk at all hours of the night and gotten arrested . . . how many times had it been? Four? Five? He couldn't remember.

"Well, I'd better let you go get some sleep," she supposed.

"Yeah. Sleep." He fake-yawned. "Tired."

Laughing as though she knew how he was planning to spend his evening, she said, "Goodnight, honey."

"Goodnight." He ended the call and set his phone down on the counter of the sink, checking his reflection in the mirror. He fixed his hair, flexed his muscles for a moment, and grinned at himself confidently. Oh, yeah. Fucking stud.

As he strolled out of the bathroom, he rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Alright, Crazy Girl, I'm ready for s-" He trailed off abruptly when he saw that she was fast asleep, resting comfortably in the middle of their double bed. She had indeed changed into her new outfit—an emerald corset and black nylons that went halfway up her thighs. She looked incredibly sexy, but also incredibly sweet with her lips gently parted, hair sprawled across the pillowcase.

Shango was curled up on the foot of the bed with his eyes closed, too. Somehow that just made the whole scene even better.

So there would be no sex tonight, clearly. But that was fine. Sarah had gone to class and worked a long shift at the rehabilitation center today. She was tired, and he wanted to let her sleep.

Carefully peeling back the covers, he crawled in beside her. Shango got up, though, and started to bark that high-pitched little bark of his when he saw him.

"Shh," Michael whispered to him, pressing his index finger to his lips.

As if Shango understood that they didn't want to wake her up, he sat back down and just stared at Michael instead.

"Mmm," Sarah moaned, starting to stir a bit.

"Go back to sleep," he told her, managing to slip the blankets out from underneath her. He covered her up, put his arm around her, and pulled her in close. She snuggled into him, putting her hand on his chest, right over his heart.

...

 _So far so good. Michael's third date with Sarah was going much better than the first one had, and it was even improving on the second one. And that was saying something, because the second one had been a pretty damn good improvement in and of itself._

 _They sat out together on a blanket at Plaza Verde, right outside the honors hall where she lived. She had packed up a bunch of picnic food, and together, they'd devoured it in no time. Now they were just talking, neither of them in any apparent hurry to get up and go._

" _Never?" he said, smiling at her in disbelief. "Ever?" The conversation had taken a turn for the more personal subject matter, and she had just revealed something that surprised the hell out of him._

" _No, is that so hard to believe?"_

" _Well, in this day and age, yeah."_

 _She huffed. "I'm nineteen years old. Why should I feel pressured to have sex?"_

" _No, not pressured, but . . ." He motioned up and down to her petite but perfectly curvy frame. "Look at you. I'm sure you've had offers."_

" _Well, yeah," she acknowledged, flipping her hair back over her shoulder, "but not the right ones."_

" _Huh." He was still shocked. Sarah was one of the prettiest girls he'd ever met. It just seemed unreal that she was still a virgin. "I had sex for the first time when I was, like, fourteen."_

" _Well, that's 'cause you're a slut," she teased._

 _He laughed at that. Well . . . he pretty much had been. Sluts didn't always have to be girls. He'd spent the majority of his first two years of high school sticking his dick in anything that was open. And then his junior year, he'd started dating Isabel. And then his senior year . . ._

 _Oh, that senior year._

" _Don't get me wrong," she said, "I had boyfriends in high school, and it's not like we never did_ anything. _"_

 _His eyebrows shot upward._

" _Rounding second base at best," she clarified. "Get your mind out of the gutter."_

" _Sorry."_

" _But my parents waited until they got married, and I always thought that was nice."_

" _Oh." He shifted uncomfortably. "So . . . that's what you're waiting for?" Damn. He wasn't sure he had the patience for that._

 _Much to his relief, she corrected him. "No, not necessarily. I think I'm just waiting until I'm . . ." She trailed off thoughtfully._

" _In love?" he offered up._

 _She gazed at him a moment. "Just until it feels right," she said. "I think I'll know for sure when I'm ready."_

Will you? _he couldn't help but wonder. Did anyone ever_ really _know? He couldn't even remember much about his first time with Courtney. He'd been at a party, celebrating the JV football team's miraculous come-from-behind win over West Roswell, a victory in which he'd played a substantial part. He'd gotten drunk, and then he'd gotten laid. Simple as that._

 _Sex hadn't been simple like that for a really long time now._

" _What made you decide to go for it so early on in life?" she asked._

" _Uh, alcohol," he confessed. "Plus, my parents . . . they're pretty much on the opposite end of the spectrum as yours. They had me at the end of their senior year of high school, so I'm sure that played a part."_

 _She leaned back, arching her back a bit, and the breeze blew through her thick hair. "You never talk about your parents or your family much," she remarked. "Why is that?"_

" _Well . . ." He shrugged. "There's not much to say. I love my mom; we really bonded this summer. I love my little sister, but right now she only cares about boys and being popular, so I'm kinda worried about her."_

 _She waited a moment, then asked, "What about your dad?"_

 _He sighed heavily, knowing there was no way to sugarcoat it. "Yeah, I don't love my dad."_

" _Why not?" she asked. "Or . . . sorry, is it none of my business?"_

" _No, it's . . ." He didn't mind her asking. In a way, it was nice to have someone to talk to, because right now, he couldn't talk to Kyle, not when his injury was still so debilitating. "He's a depressed alcoholic, basically," he summarized. "Blames me for everything he never got to do in life, thinks I'm the biggest disappointment a son could ever be."_

" _Oh." Sarah winced. "I'm sorry, Michael."_

" _Ah, it is what it is," he mumbled in acceptance. "He's my dad." It didn't matter how much he wished someone else had filled that role; there was nothing he could do to change it._

" _I'm sorry the two of you have a rough relationship," she said softly, "but thank you for opening up to me. That means a lot."_

 _He tensed, wishing he could say he_ had _opened up, that he'd started to talk to her about that emotional baggage Tess had warned her he was carrying around. But there were parts of his life and his past that he was keeping from her, that he hadn't even touched on yet. She was in the dark. "I haven't opened up to you," he confessed wearily, not to hurt her feelings, but just to be honest._

 _She frowned slightly, but she still looked more intrigued than she did hurt. After thinking about it for a moment, she guessed, "Ex-girlfriend?"_

More than that, _he thought. She just didn't_ know _. How could she? How could anyone? He never talked about it. It was too painful._

" _Yeah," he mumbled, "something like that." Suddenly, he started to worry. If he couldn't open up to her about this, then what were they doing? What was the point of any of these three dates? Was he just leading her on, or was it even possible for him to give her something more?_

 _Small-talk was pretty much impossible after that, so they packed up the picnic supplies, and he walked her back to her dorm room. He thought she'd just say goodbye to him and invite him to call her again, just like she'd done the last two times, but instead, she pushed open the door a little wider than usual and asked, "Do you wanna come in?"_

 _He wasn't sure if he should or not, but he hesitantly followed her in anyway. "This is nice," he remarked. It was more of a small apartment than a dorm._

" _Honors housing," she explained, setting the picnic basket on the floor next to the door. "So I had fun today."_

" _Yeah." So had he, up until the conversation had gotten serious. "First date sucked, but the last two have been good, so I'll take that percentage."_

 _She laughed a little, smiling sheepishly. "Listen, Michael," she said quietly, "if you're not ready for another relationship, I understand. You don't have to feel obligated to-"_

" _No, I don't," he assured her. "I just . . ." He felt all the words right there on the tip of his tongue. He just hoped it didn't scare her off to hear them. Because he was really starting to like her._

 _She'd given him that second date and now this third one, even after the lackluster first one. Maybe he owed her this. Maybe it was time to open up._

 _He took a deep breath and started in. "I was dating this girl named Maria my senior year. And we weren't together that long, but it was . . . pretty serious." Actually, that was probably an understatement, so he added, "Very serious. We were actually engaged."_

 _Her eyes widened. "Oh, wow."_

" _Yeah, it was . . ." He laughed a little, actually somewhat embarrassed. It wasn't fun to admit that the girl you'd once wanted to marry had left your ass behind. "And she had a three year-old son, too, and I was kind of like a father to him. But . . ." He felt a lump forming in the back of his throat as all those memories and emotions started to resonate again. "I screwed up with him . . . pretty bad. I was supposed to be taking care of him, but I wasn't, and . . ." Even though he was talking about it, he couldn't quite muster up the strength to recount_ all _the horrid details. "He had an accident, and he was okay, but it could've been really bad."_

 _Sarah tilted her head to the side gazing at him sympathetically, not judgmentally. And she just kept listening._

" _I don't think Maria could ever really get past that, and it made her second-guess everything we had going." Even now, he could still recall the look of disappointment in her eyes; it made any disappointment he'd ever glimpsed in his dad's seem insignificant in comparison. "So she left me," he revealed, "and she left town. I haven't . . ." He swallowed that lump down, quietly admitting, "I don't know where they are, and I don't think I'll ever see 'em again." He'd never said that out loud, never even really admitted it to himself until right now, and it was one bitter pill._

 _Sarah reached up and stroked his cheek. Her hands were soft, her touch comforting. There was a warmness and understanding in her eyes, and as she gazed up at him, he started to feel that same warmness, in the pit of his stomach, the back of his neck, his fingertips. All over._

 _He felt himself leaning in, and she did the same. His eyes fluttered shut at the same time hers did, and suddenly, they were kissing. Not a deep kiss, not a hard one, but one that he felt all over, one that he didn't want to stop._

 _Her bottom lip trembled as she pulled back ever so slightly, her breath still mingling with his as her hand came down to rest first on his shoulder, and then over his heart._

" _Michael . . ." she whispered._

 _And that was all it took. He kissed her again, more insistently this time, the way she deserved to be kissed. Her mouth reciprocated his immediately, no hesitation, no uncertainty. His hands wound around her waist, and hers came up around his neck to furrow into his hair. He pulled her closer, and she arched her whole body up into his. She was_ so _warm._

" _Sarah . . ." He wasn't trying to take things too fast._

 _In a rush against his lips, she murmured, "My bedroom, my bedroom."_

 _He clumsily backed her around the counter, already clamoring to get his hands up the back of her shirt, and she let go of him only long enough to fumble with her door handle and open the door. They spilled into her room, grasping at each other frantically, and collapsed onto her bed._

 _She was ready. He felt ready, too._

...

Michael watched his girlfriend sleep, happy that she looked so peaceful and content. And that was enough to make him feel content, too, so gradually, his own eyes shut, and he lay next to her, falling asleep, breathing her in.


	6. Chapter 6

The cheerleading squad Tess was helping coach was a competitive cheer squad, girls brought together solely for the sake of performing routines in competitions at the local, state, and then hopefully national level. They ranged in age from twelve to fifteen, and all in all, they were nice girls. Sure, sometimes when they got together, they were enough to drive you crazy, but Tess enjoyed cheerleading crazy. It made her feel all reminiscent.

Unfortunately, she couldn't _truly_ enjoy what she was doing, not as long as the head coaches were treating her like a servant. The other day, they'd actually told her to go get them some coffee. Like she was an intern or something! It had taken every ounce of willpower she'd had to not _accidentally_ spill it on their shirts when she'd brought it to them.

Tess got the girls started with their stretching routine that day, because Stephanie and Kristin weren't there yet. It wasn't unusual for them to walk in late—whenever they did, they acted like it was no big deal—but if Tess ever walked in late, or if one of the cheerleaders walked in late, they'd get a tongue-lashing. So hypocritical, so annoying.

"Good job, girls," Tess compliment the squad after they'd all successfully held their right splits for twenty-five seconds. "Your flexibility's improving." For some of them, it came easily, especially the ones who had a gymnastics background. But others, the ones Kristin and Stephanie tended to think were hopeless, had worked really hard to keep up with the more experienced girls, and their hard work was showing.

As if simply to override Tess's compliment, Stephanie walked in the doors of their dance studio, blaring, "Those weren't up to par. Do them again."

The girls exchanged pained looks with each other, then slid back into their splits positions, counting out loud in unison. "One, two, three . . ."

"I'm sorry," Tess said quietly to the squad, whirling around to face the wicked witches. Kristin and Stephanie were situating themselves in their new coaches' chairs; how convenient that they had neglected to get her one, too.

Tess marched right up to them and reported, "All the girls were here on time. So was I." There. A nice, subtle jab at their own tardiness.

"I had a flat tire," Kristin blatantly lied.

"Really? You had a flat tire last week," Tess reminded her. The excuses were getting redundant.

"Well, I had one this week, too," Kristin insisted. She brought her latte up to her mouth, taking a sip, and as she did that, Tess noticed something new: an obnoxiously gigantic diamond on her left hand.

 _Great,_ she thought, _one more thing for her to brag about._

"Aren't you gonna say something?" Kristin asked expectantly.

 _Wasn't planning on it._ "About what?" she played dumb.

"This." Kristin excitedly held out her hand, flittering her fingers. "Jason proposed last night."

"It was so romantic," Stephanie raved. "I was there."

"You were?" Tess asked.

"Oh, of course. All of her close friends were there."

Kristin sighed wistfully. "He bought me this beautiful dress, and we went up to the roof of his parents' restaurant. Everyone was there, and there was this mariachi band, and he got down on one knee and proposed. It was _so_ romantic. I couldn't have asked for a sweeter engagement."

"Hmm." Tess flashed back to her own most romantic moment. She still remembered what a rush it had been to walk into her high school gym and see _Will you marry me?_ spelled out with pompoms on the bleachers, to see Kyle standing out on the middle of the court, smiling at her lovingly. Now _that_ had been sweet. Kristin wouldn't think so, though. She would think it was juvenile and lame.

"Girls!" Stephanie barked again. "Those splits were still horrible! Fifty seconds this time. Go!"

Tess sighed in frustration. Between Stephanie's bad attitude and Kristin's self-righteous one, this was going to be a _long_ practice.

When it was all finally over, she went to Michael and Sarah's apartment to hang out with her best friend. Michael had class on Thursdays, and Sarah usually had the whole day off, so it was the perfect day for girl time. Hanging out with Sarah was pretty much the best stress relief, too, because she was always more than willing to listen to her vent and to feed her good food while she was venting.

"Oh my god, I _hate_ her!" Tess growled, letting it all out. "The whole time, she just kept going on and on. She was all, 'Oh, look at my ring! Isn't it pretty? Isn't it the best? Isn't my boyfriend the best? My life's the best.' It made me wanna throw up."

"She sounds like the kind of girl I hated in high school," Sarah empathized, sliding a plate of raspberry swirl cheesecake across the table to her.

"She is." Tess wasted no time digging in to the dessert in front of her. It was nice to be able to eat her feelings. "She's so catty. And bratty. And _bitchy_."

Sarah smirked, pulling out the chair beside her. "Michael says that's how you used to be."

"Okay, maybe I once was," Tess acknowledged, "but I always had this adorableness to go along with it. And when it really mattered, I could tone down the drama and be mature. But Kristin . . . no. She's just one of those girls who _has_ to be the center of attention all the time and doesn't care about anybody but herself. She sat there the whole time today bragging about how it was gonna be a really short engagement, because she and Jason just love each other so much, so they'll be married by the end of the year. She was totally rubbing it in my face."

"You think so?"

"Oh, I know so." There wasn't one word that came out of that girl's mouth that wasn't cruel and calculated. "And I tried not to let her get under my skin, but . . . it's hard not to, you know? I mean, Kyle and I have been engaged for almost two and a half years now."

"Well, that's okay," Sarah reassured her.

"Two and a half _years_ , Sarah. That's a long time." It was never supposed to have been so long. The plan had always been to do a summer wedding, right after she graduated high school; but then Kyle's injury happened and . . . well, obviously plans had changed.

"It is a long time," Sarah agreed, "but who knows? Maybe this could be the year."

"Doubt it," Tess muttered realistically. "He's humiliated at the thought of having to stand up at the altar with his cane. He doesn't wanna do it."

"Well, maybe he'll work a little harder with his physical therapy then."

"Doubt that, too." She sighed sadly, feeling like nothing would change this year. It would be the same frustration, the same stress, the same struggle. The only new thing was this stupid new job and her stupid new coworkers.

"You are just a Debbie Downer today, you know that?" Sarah said.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. Luckily, her bad mood was never contagious. Sarah always managed to keep a smile on her face. "It's just hard, you know? I used to feel like Kyle and I had our whole lives to look forward to. Now I feel . . . stuck."

"I understand," Sarah said, reaching over to squeeze her hand supportively. "But things _will_ get better. And you know Michael and I will do anything we can to help you through things."

"Yeah." Tess laughed a little. "Oh my god, if someone had told three years ago that Michael's Guerin's life would end up being more stable and on-track than mine, I would've told 'em they were crazy. But now he's got you, and you guys are, like, the perfect couple."

Sarah smiled a little but shook her head. "No, we're not."

"You pretty much are." And Tess knew a thing or two about perfect couples, since she used to be half of one.

"I love him, sure," Sarah said, "but sometimes he annoys me. And I'm sure sometimes I annoy him. We may not argue a whole lot, but every once in a while we have our disagreements. And sometimes I have my insecurities. Like I wonder if he's comparing me to Isabel or Maria or anyone else he's ever been with. He just has so much more experience than I have."

"Oh, honey, as long as Michael's gettin' it in, I'm sure he's fine," Tess assured her.

"I know. But I worry about other things, too. Like what we're gonna do when it comes time for me to go to grad school? If I wanna be a pharmacist, I pretty much have to do my masters at UNM in Albuquerque. But what if Michael doesn't wanna move there? I know he'll wanna stay with Kyle."

"He'll move wherever you move. Trust me," Tess promised her. She'd make sure of it. Hopefully in two more years, Kyle would be a lot more mobile than he was now, and much less depressed. Then Michael wouldn't feel so bad about relocating, if in fact that was what he and Sarah decided to do. "I don't think you have to worry about any of that stuff. It's all pretty minor."

"My point is, no couple is a perfect couple," Sarah summarized.

That was where she was wrong, though. So wrong. "Kyle and I used to be," Tess recalled sadly. "We were that couple everyone else aspired to be. I'm sure we were nauseatingly romantic at times, but I loved it. I loved every second of it. And then it all just . . . changed." She grimaced, remembering what it had been like to be in that stadium during that fateful pass play, to _hear_ the hit Kyle had taken even over the noise of everyone else in the crowd. The fear she'd felt when he hadn't gotten up right away, multiplied by the panic that had swarmed through her when Michael had started calling for help and the medical staff ran out on the field . . . she'd never felt anything like it. It had been the worst, most terrifying moment of her life.

"It's not an easy situation you're in, Tess," Sarah said understandingly.

"All it took was one moment for _everything_ to come crashing down. And now Kyle and I aren't the perfect couple anymore." She took another bite of her cheesecake, reluctantly accepting that fact. "We passed that torch off to you and Michael, whether you believe so or not."

Sarah shook her head, clearly not believing it. But it didn't matter. Tess knew it was true.

...

"Michael?"

 _Oh, god._ He recognized that voice. Hadn't heard it since high school, and that long drought had been fine by him. But he heard it that night, loud and clear while he was pulling a solo shift at the front desk of Vidorra. _Crap._

Michael slowly spun his chair around, dreading having to deal with this tool again. "Jase."

"Buddy!" Jase grinned from ear to ear.

"Holy shit, is that you?" Michael couldn't believe it. Jase had been decently athletic in high school—never had possessed a whole lot of brain cells, but that hadn't mattered because he'd been the only decent guy on the basketball team. Now, though, he had a beer gut that made him look like a pregnant man, and a blonde beard that made him look like a golden retriever. He was wearing a way-too-tight black t-shirt that said 'The Walking Dumb' and had a picture of a zombie Peter Griffin from _Family Guy_ with a bloody brain in his hand.

"Man, you look exactly the same," Jase said.

"Yeah." That was because he still worked out. "You . . . don't."

"Put on a couple pounds," Jase admitted, jiggling his belly.

"A couple," Michael agreed kindly. Really, Jase looked like he'd multiplied himself by three. "What're you doin' here?" No way could he be going to college now . . . right?

"Oh, I'm just here to see Roxie," he explained. "You know . . . _see_." He wriggled his tongue excitedly.

"Yeah, you and five other guys tonight," Michael informed him. "Actually, I think one of 'em's still up there."

Jase shrugged. "Oh, well. It ain't gay if it's a three-way."

"No," Michael disagreed quietly, "it's . . . pretty gay."

Jase didn't hear him, though, because he was too busy talking some more. Just like he'd always done back in high school. The kid was a motor mouth. "So you go to school here?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Work here, too?"

"That's why I'm sittin' behind the desk."

"Wow, that's cool. That's cool, man. So, uh . . ." Jase looked around, lowering his voice. "How many chicks you bangin' these days?"

"Just one," Michael replied. "My girlfriend."

"Oh, you mean . . ." Jase looked surprised, then confused, a common combination for him. "What's her name again? Mary? Maria?"

Michael rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Yeah, Maria. I didn't think you two were gonna get back together."

"We didn't," Michael informed him.

"Oh." Jase frowned. "That sucks, man. She was hot. Is your new girl hot?"

"Of course she's hot." He didn't date any other kind. "She's not new, though. We're goin' on two years now."

"Two _years_?" Jase's eyes bulged. "Oh, man, I don't know how you do it. I gotta spread the seed, you know? Which, speaking of . . ." He motioned to the elevator. "Good to see you, but I really gotta go spread it to Roxie."

"Oh, I'm sure she'll spread something right back to you," Michael muttered, hollering after his former friend—if he could really be called that—as he headed over to the elevator, "Wear a rubber, man!"

"Don't need to!" Jase yelled back. "My dad got me a vasectomy for Christmas last year!" Chortling like an idiot, he got on the elevator and waved goodbye as the doors slid shut.

 _A vasectomy?_ Michael made an anguished face just thinking about it. Wasn't Jase too young to go through the painful snip? Although it was probably for the best, because he was way too fucking stupid to be having a kid. Wouldn't protect him from STDs, though.

Oh, well. He honestly didn't care.

Michael turned back around, returning to the monotonous task of stamp sorting that he'd been doing before Jase had shown up. He wasn't able to focus on that for long, though, because soon enough, someone else approached the front desk.

"Hey, these are the Vidorra Suites, right?"

He looked up and saw someone he disliked seeing even more than Jase: Isabel's pimp of a boyfriend, Jesse. He'd never actually had a conversation with him, but ever since they'd moved to Carlsbad last spring, he'd seen him around here and there.

"Yep," he answered tersely. Before he could ask what he was doing there, Isabel came into the lobby. Her hair was up in a clip, and she had on a long trench coat and black high heels. "Hey, next time don't leave me in the car . . ." She said, stopping abruptly when she saw him sitting there. "Michael."

It only took one look at her to know why she was there. The only reason a girl wore a coat like that in the middle of September is if she'd get arrested for wearing out in public what was underneath.

"This is Michael?" Jesse said, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Really? Oh, man, I've been wanting to meet you for years. I always wanted to thank you."

Michael glared at him. "For what?"

"For breaking my girl's heart." Jesse put his arm around Isabel, pulling her into his side. "If you hadn't cheated on her, she and I might never have gotten together."

Isabel looked down at the floor. Michael wanted to do the same, because in truth, it was moments like this that brought back that shame. It was a lot easier to ignore her when it was just her and Courtney at a party, making fools of themselves, or her walking across campus, drawing the eye of every guy who frequented her website. But with her standing here, just a few feet away from him . . . it was really hard not to feel bad.

"What're you here for?" Michael asked them.

"Business," Jesse replied vaguely, taking Isabel's hand. "Come on, babe."

Isabel exchanged one more quick, wordless glance with Michael, then let her boyfriend lead her towards the stairs.

 _Damn,_ Michael thought, figuring they were headed up to some guy's room for a party, a party where _she_ would be the featured entertainment. Jase may have changed a lot on the outside, but Isabel had changed _completely_ on the inside. She wasn't the same person anymore, and he missed the girl he used to know.

...

It was all a blur. It always was these days. The first time Isabel had put on a striptease, she'd been focusing too much, taking in every little detail, calculating every move. But now, she'd taken her clothes off so many times for so many different people that she didn't even think anything of it anymore. They all just blended together.

She was wearing her pink vinyl bikini top tonight, the one that barely held her breasts in, along with the matching G-string. It was a favorite amongst her clients. The ones who booked her for a repeat performance usually requested that she wear it again. The guys she was performing for tonight were so easy. One of them was celebrating a birthday, and she was his present. All it took was a little hip-shaking to get them excited, a little dancing on top the coffee table to get them interested, and a little sliding her hands up and down her sides and caressing her own breasts to get them slipping their hands down their own pants.

She stepped down off the coffee table and swayed towards the couch, bending over and sticking her ass in the birthday boy's face. He smacked it, then growled and bit at it, and eventually, after she shook it around a bit, he slid a couple of five dollar bills into her G-string, securing them in place on her left hip. The right side was already full.

"Oh, yeah, you're so sexy," one guy raved.

"Shake that ass, baby."

"Take your top off."

Those all started to blend together, too.

The birthday boy, though was more daring. He grabbed hold of her hips and yanked her down onto his lap. "Ride my cock, baby," he said, pressing his hips up into her. She could feel his erection through his pants pressing right into her.

"Okay, stop," she said, clamoring back to her feet. Why did some guys take things too far?

"Suck our dicks," another one of them said, unleashing his cock from his pants. Immediately, the other three guys started to do the same.

"Jesse!" she called, sensing that she might need some assistance.

Jesse came out of the bedroom, glancing up from the . . . what was that? A crossword? Glancing up from the _crossword_ he'd been doing? She was taking her clothes off and he was taking a guess at twelve across?

"What is it?" he asked.

She motioned in exasperation to the guys, who were quickly zipping their pants back up.

"She's a stripper, guys," Jesse reminded them, "not a prostitute."

"So we don't get to have sex with her?" the birthday boy asked. "I thought we would."

Isabel rolled her eyes. Here it was again, someone else who thought he had an all-access pass just because he'd seen her doing all sorts of stuff on the Internet.

Much to her dismay, Jesse asked, "How much extra would you pay?"

She shot him a look. "Jesse." He wasn't serious, was he?

The guys on the couch all looked at each other and shrugged, and birthday boy offered, "Three-hundred bucks?"

 _Oh my god._ Isabel took the money out her G-string and sent Jesse a look of panic. This wasn't happening. He wouldn't let this happen . . . would he?

"Sorry, guys," he said, making his way towards the door. "My girlfriend's not for sale. You're looking for Slutty Courtney. Book her next time."

They all groaned in disappointment, and Isabel grabbed her shoes, unable to get out of their fast enough. Jesse grabbed her coat off the coat rack for her, and they walked out into the hall together.

"Okay, you weren't _actually_ considering that, were you?" she snapped.

"No, of course not." He draped her coat over her shoulders, and she hurriedly tied it around her waist. "I just wanted to see how much they'd offer up."

She couldn't help but look at him accusatorily. It felt like he hadn't been as protective of her in there as he should have been. "You promised me it'd never go that far," she reminded him. "You said you'd take care of me."

"And I will," he assured her, taking her hand in his. "I am." He brought it up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Let's go home."

Groaning, she let him lead her back down the hallway, just as he'd led her up there. Hopefully Michael wasn't still working at the front desk. She'd be awfully ashamed to have to walk past him again.

...

"Three-hundred pounds?" Tess gasped in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. He looked like a different person."

"Oh my god, that's so sad," she lamented as she dragged her hands through her hair. "He was always kinda cute."

"He was there to see Roxie," Michael added, picking up Kyle's X-box controller. It was off, but he'd probably played one of his football games all afternoon.

"Oh, that's a match made in STD-heaven."

"I know, right?" He shuddered just thinking what their night must have been like, especially if there had been another dude involved. It didn't matter what Jase had said; three-ways were only okay when it was two girls and one guy.

"Everyone's changed a lot," Tess said. "Did you know Antonio has a baby now?"

"What?"

"Yeah. Three-month old daughter. I ran into him at the Lift-Off gas station last time I went home to Roswell to visit my parents, and he told me about her."

"Wow." Antonio was Tess's age, a year younger than him, so that was crazy to think that he was already a dad. But then again . . . maybe not so crazy.

"Who was the other guy you and Kyle used to hang out with?" she asked, stretching out on the couch. "Buddha or something?"

"Bubba," he corrected. "Yeah, he went off to Vegas a couple summers ago, and no one ever saw him again."

"Hmm, he's probably managing some greasy strip joint," she speculated.

"Huh," he grunted, able to picture that. "Yeah, speaking of strippers . . ." He thought about telling Tess how Isabel had popped in at Vidorra while he'd been on front desk duty last night, but . . . nah, she didn't need to know that.

"What?" she prodded.

"No, nothing."

"Oh, what, did you go to a strip club or something?"

"No, the strip club came to me."

She sat up on the middle cushion, staring at him, perplexed. "What?"

"You don't wanna know."

"Well, now I do. Tell me."

He sighed, knowing he shouldn't have brought it up. Hearing what her ex-best friend was up to was probably going to upset her. "Alright, Isabel and Jesse stopped by last night while I was working. She was there for . . . you know."

"For _stripping_?" Tess shrieked. "She does that now?"

"Oh, yeah." As far as he knew, she'd been doing it for a long time. It was probably a bigger money-maker than the website alone.

"Oh, that's disgusting," Tess groaned. "God, I can't even . . ." She trailed off, shaking her head. "You know, after she went to Princeton, I found out some stuff about her."

"Like what?"

"Uh, like, you know how Ryan was always bragging that she sucked him off at prom? And we all thought he was just lying?"

"Oh, shit." Michael sensed where this was going.

"She admitted it to Roxie while they were drunk at a party over the summer, and then Roxie told, like, everyone." Tess made a repulsed face. "So, yeah. Ryan was telling the truth all along."

"Ah, fuck, I hated Ryan," Michael grumbled. That guy had been the constant thorn in his high school side. "He was always walkin' around like he owned the place, talkin' shit, actin' like he was a big man. And now of course, big surprise, he comes out."

Tess's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "Ryan's _gay_?" she spat.

"Yeah, you didn't know that?"

"No! How did you know?"

"He posted this big coming out announcement on Twitter a couple months ago. Someone showed it to me."

"Oh my god," Tess gasped. "Oh my _god_! I had my first kiss with him! In sixth grade!"

Michael chuckled. "Must've been a bad kiss then, if he's a little dick licker now."

"Oh, shut up!" Tess yelped, throwing a pillow at him playfully.

Before he could tease her about it anymore, Kyle came rolling into the living room. His wheelchair was huge and the house was small, but he had enough practice maneuvering it that he could wheel it around the TV and coffee table easily.

"Hey, man," Michael said. "We gonna make it around the block today?"

Kyle looked around confusedly, asking, "Where's Shango?"

"Oh, I came right from class," Michael explained. "I didn't stop and get him."

Kyle looked disappointed. He wheeled his chair right up to the couch and decided, "I don't think I wanna walk today."

"It's a nice day, honey," Tess informed him. "It might do you some good to get some fresh air."

"That's alright."

She sighed, getting up off the couch. That was Kyle's spot. Had been for a while now. "Do you guys want some lunch then?" she offered.

"I'm fine," Michael answered at the same time Kyle said, "Yes."

"Um . . . sandwiches then?" she said, venturing into the kitchen. "Michael, I'll just make you one and you can eat it later if you get hungry."

"Alright, thanks." He didn't want her to be waiting on him. God knew she waited on Kyle enough.

With a great deal of effort, Kyle put all his weight on his arms and lifted himself out of his wheelchair. He plopped down onto the couch, slanted at an angle. Carefully, he straightened himself out and reached forward for the second X-box controller. "Game?" he suggested.

That hadn't at all been why Michael had come over there, but . . . oh, well, it was better than nothing. "Alright, sure," he agreed, moving over onto the couch to sit next to his friend. Kyle could still kick his ass at anything electronically competitive, so it was probably good for him to be able to do something where he could still _win_.

"Oh, Tess?" Kyle called into the kitchen. "Just so you know, these ESPN reporters keep callin' me. They wanna do another interview."

"Really?" She came back into the living room with a slice of Swiss cheese in one hand and two slices of bread in the other. "Like a follow-up?"

"Yeah." He chuckled angrily. "Kyle Valenti, two years later. A story of triumph over tragedy. A dream cut short. Some bullshit like that."

"Well, are you gonna do it?" she asked.

He grunted. "No. It'd just be a lie."

"Yeah, but . . ." She shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, I know it's weird for you to think of it this way, but doing another interview would keep your story out there."

"I don't want it to be out there."

 _Oh, crap,_ Michael thought, turning on the X-box, trying to divert his attention to that. Seemed like an argument was starting up.

"Last time you did an interview, all these donations came pouring in," Tess reminded him, "but that's all dried up now. We could really use a little more help."

"So you want me to profit off my career-ending injury?" he spat accusatorily. "Is that what you want me to do?"

"No, I-"

"What am I supposed to, just sit there and lie to them when they ask me all these questions? They don't wanna hear the truth. They want me to say things are lookin' up and I'm doin' a whole lot better. But that's a lie. I hate bein' like this. I'd rather be dead."

Michael froze, stunned. _Holy shit._ Kyle had _not_ just said that.

Looking like she'd just been socked in the gut, Tess nearly dropped the sandwich ingredients on the end table and hurried down the hallway, slamming the bedroom door shut before she started crying. They could hear her out in the living room.

"Man, you were an ass to say that," Michael informed him bluntly. He set his game controller down, got up, and grabbed his backpack. No need to stick around now. Kyle and Tess had plenty of stuff to deal with on their own.

...

Morning came quickly, and even though he'd slept late, Michael struggled to get out of bed. It was so tempting to just lie there all day. He could see the TV from his bed, and Sarah could pass him food through their kitchen window. It was a perfect set-up.

He forced himself up, though, only because he knew his mom was cooking lunch and expected them in Roswell around noon. He showered, shaved, put on an outfit his mom wouldn't hate, and sat on the couch lazily, watching College Game Day. They were about to do the game picks. As usual, Corso was bringing out the crazy and bringing out his headwear.

Sarah came out of the bathroom looking all put together, her hair straightened and styled, her makeup all done. "Mmm, you look lively," she remarked sarcastically, leaning over the back of the couch to drape her arms over her shoulders and kiss his cheek.

"You wore me out last night," he joked.

"Oh, please," she scoffed, veering into the kitchen. "Do you have any idea how hard I have to work in bed just to keep up with you?"

He chuckled proudly. "Yeah, I got a lot of skills."

"And so much modesty about it."

"Well . . ." He shrugged. Why be modest when you knew you were good?

"Will you be ready to go soon?" she asked, standing on her tiptoes, barely able to reach up into the cabinet for one of her early morning energy bars.

"I'm ready to go whenever you are," he said through a yawn.

"Okay, let me just squeeze in a little breakfast first."

"Take as long as you need," he urged. He was content to just stay sitting right there.

"Michael."

He craned his neck back and saw that she was giving him a knowing look.

"Is everything okay?"

"It's fine. It's just . . . you know, sometimes I don't always look forward to goin' back home."

"I know," she said, getting out her coffee grounds. "It's okay, though. I'll be right there with you."

He smiled appreciatively. Thank God for that. She'd always been there with him.

...

 _Sarah's bed was only a twin bed, so there wasn't any space to spread out. She was curled up on her side with her back to him, sleeping peacefully. But Michael lay awake, nearly hanging off the side of the bed, because that was the only space he had. He stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought._

 _It had been an unexpected ending to their third date, that was for sure. He hadn't anticipated for one second that they would end up sleeping together, but they had. All afternoon. For dinner, they'd ordered pizza and stayed in her room, eating, talking, laughing. Kissing had also been a big theme. And now, as night was wearing off and the morning was settling in, she was sleeping, and he was next to her, dozing off for thirty minutes here and there, but never quite able to enter into that deep, restful kind of sleep._

 _He looked over at her bare back, at skin that was smooth to the touch. He'd let his hands explore all over her last night._ All _over. She was petite, but she had these magnificent hips to go along with her tiny little waist. Her breasts were firm and heavy in his hands. The skin on the inside of her thighs was the softest, warmest skin on her whole body. There was so much to explore. And she'd willingly let him explore everything he'd wanted to. She hadn't pushed him away._

 _He was used to sex; after all, he'd had it hundreds of times. But she . . . she had given him her first time, the only first time she would ever have. He'd kept that in mind, of course, by trying to go slow, by talking her through the initial pain, by giving her the first orgasm she would ever have when his head was between her legs. No one else would ever be her first time. For the rest of her life, it would be him._

Wow, _he thought, amazed by that. He'd slept with girls who were virgins before—Liz Parker sprang first and foremost to mind. But somehow, with Sarah . . . it just was more important._

 _He wanted to curl up behind her and cuddle her close—girls loved that sappy stuff—but something was holding him back. It was a weird feeling, one that he couldn't quite decipher or make sense of. But lying there in that bed with Sarah, with a girl who seemed to see a lot of good in him for some weird reason . . . he almost felt like he'd been unfaithful. Like he had betrayed . . . Maria._

 _He knew it was stupid to feel that way. Maria was gone. She'd been gone for months now, and she wasn't coming back. What was he supposed to do, just mope around over her for the rest of his life? Wait for her? That wasn't living, and that wasn't what she'd wanted for him. After all, she had been the one to tell him to forget about her, to move on._

 _But could he? Could he ever_ really _do that? It probably wasn't a good sign that, mere hours after sleeping with someone new for the first time in six months, he couldn't get Maria DeLuca off his mind._

 _But maybe he could. If he just accepted the fact that it was over. If he just . . . let her go . . ._

 _In the midst of his incessant inner turmoil, his cell phone rang. "Shit," he swore as Sarah started to stir. He didn't want to wake her up. He got out of the bed, picked his jeans up off the floor, and located his phone in the front pocket. "Yeah?" he answered quietly._

" _Michael?"_

 _Oh, great, his mom. This was_ so _not the time or place to be talking to her. "Hey, Mom," he said, holding his phone to his ear as he tugged his jeans back on. "Listen, I can't really talk right now."_

" _I'm sorry to call so early," she apologized._

 _He glanced at the clock. Shit, 5:34 a.m. His mom never called him this early. "It's fine," he said, quietly opening the door so he could slip out of the bedroom. "I was up." When he treaded into the kitchen, he listened closer and was alarmed to hear her crying. Why was she crying? "What's wrong?" he asked her._

" _Oh, honey . . ." Her voice shook._

 _Immediately, he started to fear the worst. His sister. Something was wrong with his little sister._

" _I don't know how to say this," she cried, barely managing to choke out, "It's your dad. He's dead."_

 _And just like that . . . it was like all the other thoughts just vanished from Michael's head. And time stopped. And there was no sound. And only one word reverberated in his mind._

 _Dead._

 _The phone fell from his hand, and the screen shattered when it hit the floor. And he just stood there, letting it soak in._

 _He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Sarah came out of the bedroom with the sheet wrapped around body. Maybe a minute or two. Maybe just a couple of seconds. "Hey," she said. "You're not leaving, are you?"_

 _His mouth felt dry. It was like he couldn't remember how to speak._

" _Are you okay?" she asked, putting her hand on his arm._

 _He . . . didn't know how to answer that question. "My dad's dead," he told her._

" _What?" she gasped in disbelief, automatically moving closer. "Oh, Michael . . . I'm so sorry."_

 _His dad . . . was dead. It really shouldn't have been surprising, not since he'd tried to kill himself earlier that year. But somehow, it still shocked the hell out of him._

" _What happened?" she asked softly._

" _I don't know." He bent down to pick his phone up, but it wouldn't turn back on._

 _She rubbed his back supportively, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry," she said again. "That's awful."_

" _Yeah, I think . . . I think I need to head home for my mom and sister."_

" _Of course," she said. "Do you . . ." She paused, as if she wasn't sure if she wanted to say anything, but then she said it anyway. "Do you want me to go with you?"_

I barely know you, _he thought._ You never knew my dad. You wouldn't have wanted to anyway.

 _She didn't have to offer to go with him . . . yet she offering just that._

" _Yes," he replied on instinct. This wouldn't be easy, but maybe, somehow, it would be easier if she was by his side._

...

Michael closed his eyes, relieved that this visit to Roswell wouldn't be like the last one. But still, even if he wasn't going back to deal with the news of his dead dad . . . there was always a lot of stuff that was hard for him to deal with when he went back there.


	7. Chapter 7

Being back in Roswell was so weird for Michael. In some ways, it felt like a different life. In others, it felt like he'd never left. Same old house. Same overgrown trees in the backyard. Same broken porch step out front. Same old mailbox that was always stuffed with bills—except by now the _ue_ of their last name had worn off, so they were officially the _G rin_ family.

"Well, here we are," he mumbled as he parked his car in the driveway.

"Here we are," Sarah echoed, leaning over to kiss his cheek quickly before she got out. She had barely shut the door when the front door opened, and Michael's mom came bursting outside excitedly. "Oh, come here, you!" she said, standing on the porch with her arms open.

Michael got out and watched as his girlfriend scampered up to his mom and gave her a big hug. "Hey, Krista." They got along exceptionally well, which was great. It was kind of nice not to have to worry about any tension there.

"Good to see you," Sarah told her.

"Oh, you, too. I love your outfit," Krista raved.

"Thanks."

Michael tuned them out as they started to talk clothes, and just as it always happened when he was here, he started to remember things. Lots of things. Some good and some bad. Like he remembered sitting on that front porch with Maria one night, telling her he loved her for the very first time. But then he remembered another night a few months later, when they'd been standing in the front yard arguing about her decision to leave town, and he'd told her he hated her. But he hadn't really.

"Let's see this little dog," he heard his mom say, and that snapped him back to it. "Michael, where is he?"

"Oh, he's . . ." Michael opened the backdoor of the car and picked Shango up so he didn't have to try to jump out. "Go say hi," he urged, setting him down on the grass.

Shango took a few nervous steps, sniffing around, but when Sarah called, "Come here, Shango!" and patted her leg, he bounded towards her with his tail wagging and tongue hanging out.

"Oh, he's precious!" Michael's mother exclaimed. "He's _so_ small!"

"Well, he'll get bigger," Sarah told her, bending down to scratch Shango behind the ears, his favorite spot. "Corgis get kinda long."

Michael reached over into the backseat to take out both his and Sarah's bags, plus their laundry basket. Had to do the laundry while he was home. Some college stereotypes were just too good to pass up.

"Where's Teenie?" he asked.

"She slept over at Hannah's last night," his mom replied. "She'll be back soon."

 _Yeah, I hope that's where she slept,_ Michael thought. He already had the majority of his big-brother-loves-you lecture planned out, and 'no sex until college' was advice tidbit number one. Totally hypocritical of him, sure, but Tina would do well to listen.

While his mom brought Sarah into the kitchen to help put the finishing touches on lunch, Michael made a beeline for the laundry room, because he knew if he didn't toss that crap in the washer now, he'd never get around to it. Shango tried to chew on the loose socks that fell out of the laundry basket, and as long as they were Sarah's and not his, Michael let him.

As he was pouring detergent into the detergent bottle lid, he made the mistake of glancing out the back window, into the backyard. Tina used to have a swing set back there, but that was long gone now. Sold to help cover funeral expenses, if he recalled. There was still a turtle-shaped sandbox back there, but there probably wasn't any sand in it. And there was a lot of open space where he used to toss the football around with Dylan, where he'd started teaching him the rules of the game.

He could still hear his little laugh, still see the gleam of joy in his eyes when he made his first catch.

"Gotcha!"

"Shit!" he swore, nearly jumping out of his skin when his little sister came up behind him and hugged him. "Jesus, Teenie." He dumped the detergent in, recapped the bottle, and set it on the floor beside the washer.

"God, you used enough of that," she noted.

"What?" He looked down at the clothes and noticed they were all thoroughly-coated in the sticky blue liquid. "Huh, must've been spacin' off."

"Your clothes are gonna be all soapy."

"I'll just wash 'em twice." He closed the washer lid, twisted the knob to a sixty-minute cycle, and pushed the start button. Then he finally turned around to see his sister. She looked . . . different than she had the last time he'd seen her on the Fourth of July. Older already. Either her hair was growing fast or she had some extensions in. She'd toned down the eyeliner but was still wearing way too much makeup for someone her age. And her shorts were so short that he couldn't even see them under the grey sweatshirt she was wearing, so he just had to hope and assume they were there. The sweatshirt was one of his old ones from junior high, said _Rockets_ on it. It was baggy on her.

"I'm really glad you're here," she said, hugging him again. "I miss you living at home."

He hugged her back, but he couldn't say he missed the same thing. Living at college was better. There were just too many memories here.

...

Michael devoured his barbecued beef sandwich, already getting ready for the next one. He had room for two more after this, easily. There was corn on the cob, baked beans, and potato salad, too. The food was good, so he was going to do what any real man did and eat until he felt sick.

"This is good, Mom," he said between mouthfuls.

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it. Although . . . I do wish the flavor was a _little_ stronger."

"Mom," Tina droned, "don't do that thing where you criticize a meal you made that everyone loves. Not everything has to have a flaw."

"Yeah, I think it's good, Krista," Sarah concurred. "My mom would be so jealous of you. She can't cook to save her life."

"Really? She sent me a whole gift basket of cookies and brownies and fudge last Christmas. I thought it all tasted really good."

"Then my dad made it," Sarah guaranteed. "He has all the cooking ability in my family."

"Well, him _and_ you," Michael added.

"Yeah." She smiled fondly. "We used to get up every Sunday morning and cook breakfast for the rest of the family. It was our little together-time."

Across the table, Tina had a look of envy on her face. "Are you and your dad close?" she asked.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, we are."

"Hmm." Tina sighed. "Must be nice."

For a few seconds, a silence settled over the table. When Tina made these subtle mentions of their father, none of them really knew what to say. She was the one who brought him up the most, who tried to talk about him, but neither Michael nor his mom could ever really generate much of a response.

Thankfully, the doorbell rang, and Tina sprang from her seat. "I'll get it," she volunteered, bouncing towards the door.

And just like that, the uncomfortable moment had passed.

"So, you two, how are classes going?" Krista asked.

"Good," Michael replied, reaching to the middle of the table for a second sandwich. "I still got a higher GPA than this one here."

"By _one_ point!" Sarah yelped.

"Still . . . you wanna beat me," he teased.

"I do," she admitted, "but I want you to do well, too, so I'm conflicted."

"Well, I for one think it's great that you're _both_ doing so well," Krista said. "There was a time when I thought I'd never see the day, Michael . . ."

The conversation was cut short when Tina came back into the kitchen, but she wasn't alone this time. Nicholas was with her. It was so weird to see them together. Even though he was in ninth grade now, he still looked like he was in eighth grade, and she could have passed for a sophomore.

"Nicholas," their mom said, looking at him curiously. "What're you doing here?"

"Tina told me to stop by," he revealed.

Tina expertly avoided her mother's pointed gaze and instead said, "Michael, Sarah, you remember my boyfriend Nicholas, right?"

"Hard to forget," Michael muttered. Nicholas had been the new eighth grader last year, and he and Tina had started dating at the first junior high dance. This was only the second time Michael had actually met him, though, the other being the Fourth.

"I thought it'd be nice if Nicholas could join us for lunch," Tina said with a hopeful smile.

"Oh, well . . . any other day, maybe," their mom said, "but today's a family thing."

"Oh." Tina frowned. "Oh, I get it. So it's okay for Michael's girlfriend to be a part of our 'family' thing, but it's not okay for my boyfriend."

"Tina, that's different."

"Why?" she challenged defiantly. "Because he's older? Because he's your favorite child now?"

"Stop it, Teenie," Michael scolded. He'd grown _very_ protective of his mom over the years, and he hated it when she back-talked her like this.

"It's okay," Nicholas said, already taking a few step back. "I can go."

"No," Tina whined, grabbing his hand to pull him back. "You promised you'd be here."

"Yeah, but they don't-"

As if simply to avoid an argument, their mother relented. "Oh, it's fine. We've got plenty of food. Go ahead and have a seat."

"Yay!" Tina clapped her hands excitedly and skipped back to her seat. Nicholas, of course, started to sit down beside her, but Michael pulled out the chair at the end of the table instead.

"Hey, Nick," he said, glaring at him, "sit next to me."

Warily, Nicholas left Tina's side and moved over one chair. Tina gave Michael an impatient look, then moved her whole plate over one spot, too, so that she could still be next to him. "Help yourself," she urged him, but he took one look at the food and just shook his head. Kid looked . . . nervous.

Michael smirked. Good. He liked being the intimidating older brother.

Trying to get the lunch back on track, Michael's mom returned her attention to Sarah and asked, "So how's work? Are you still at the rehabilitation place?"

"Yeah," Sarah replied. "They're finally letting me do more than just clean the bedpans. It's kinda hard work, though, sometimes. Like the other day, I had to move this three-hundred pound guy from the bathroom back to his bed all on my own. It was tough."

"Oh, I'll bet. They should have someone help you. You're just a little thing."

"Well, I'm stronger than I look."

Michael would have loved to chime in, but he was too distracted watching his sister's hand slide across the table to rest on top of her boyfriend's. They just looked at each other for a second, not saying anything, and then Nicholas slipped his hand out from under hers and started rubbing her arm instead.

 _Oh, no way,_ Michael thought. He was not putting up with this shit. "You wanna take your hands off my sister?" he suggested, staring daggers at the kid.

Nicholas immediately retracted his hand, but Tina giggled. "Might be too late for that."

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. What the hell did _that_ mean?

"What's going on?" their mother asked.

"Um . . ." Tina looked at Nicholas again, and he just nodded. "Okay," she said. "Mom . . . Michael . . . there's something we need to tell you."

Michael set his sandwich down, tensing up.

Tina reached over to hold her boyfriend's hand again, and her whole face lit up as she exclaimed, "We're having a baby!"

Michael froze, and beside him, Sarah dropped the fork she had been holding. For a second, there was only more silence. And then his mother sputtered, "W—what?" She actually cracked a smile and laughed a little. "Tina, honey, you shouldn't . . . you shouldn't even joke about that. That's not very funny."

"That's 'cause I'm not joking," Tina persisted. "I'm pregnant."

Michael cast a horrified glance down at her stomach, but he couldn't even see it because of . . .

. . . the baggy sweatshirt.

 _Oh, god._

"Tina, don't . . ." His poor mother looked like she was about to have a stroke. "Don't even say that."

"Mom, I'm serious."

"No, you're . . ." She looked like she felt physically sick. " _Tina._ "

"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, looking down at her lap.

"You're . . ." With wide, fearful eyes, Krista stared at her daughter, and then she clamped her hand over her mouth as her whole body started to shake.

"Mom, don't cry," Tina pleaded.

But that was all it took for her to start sobbing. She got up from the table and stumbled over to the refrigerator, slumping against it for support. "No, you can't be," she wailed. "You're—you're _thirteen!_ "

 _Teenie . . ._ Michael looked at his sister sorrowfully across the table. How had this happened to _her_?

"Mrs. Guerin," Nicholas piped up, "I love your daughter."

"Shut up!" she roared.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Michael growled in accusation, envisioning all sorts of horrible scenarios in his head. Alcohol, pressuring, a date rape drug. Something like that. Because there was no _way_ Tina would have just . . .

"I didn't—I didn't do anything," Nicholas stammered. "We just . . ."

"What did you _do_?" Michael bellowed, bolting from his chair. He grabbed Nicholas by his collar and picked him up.

"Michael!" both Sarah and Tina shouted at the same time.

He slammed the scrawny kid back against the wall, blaring, "You did something to her, you son of a bitch!"

"Michael, stop!" Tina yelled, pulling him off of Nicholas. "He didn't do anything to me! We just . . . you know."

He gazed at her in disbelief. No, he didn't want to believe this. He didn't want to think about his little sister, his _eighth grade_ sister, having sex with someone. Having a baby? He couldn't even wrap his mind around it.

His mother continued to cry. She cried so hard she sunk down onto the floor, and Sarah went over to her, asking if she was alright.

"I'm really sorry if you're mad," Tina apologized, "but we're really happy."

Michael shook his head in dismay, stumbling backward a bit. _You're not happy,_ he thought. _You don't know what you are. Or who you are._

She was supposed to be someone. Now what if she never got the chance?

"Get the hell outta this house," he ground out at Nicholas threateningly. "You get the hell away from her, or I'll fuckin' kill you myself."

Nicholas looked genuinely afraid. He tripped over his own feet as he moved past Tina and stumbled towards the door.

"Don't go," Tina whimpered, but he was already gone.

Michael sat back down at the table, holding his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as his mom continued to sob and Sarah continued to assure her that it would be alright. This was different than coming home for his dad's funeral. This was worse.

...

His poor mom. She was devastated. She'd cried all afternoon and well into the evening, and now she was just lying flat on her bed, a hopeless look in her red, puffy eyes, tear tracks dried on her face. Michael had never seen her look quite so despaired, not even after his dad's death. She would never admit it, but in some way, losing him had been a relief to her. But this . . . it was a burden. More than that, even. A worst fear come true. A nightmare. It was for him, too.

He brought up her favorite afghan and covered her up, setting a dinner plate of mashed potatoes and chicken beside her on the bed. "I'll just leave this here," he said, hoping she'd eat it, doubting she would. She'd gotten physically sick and thrown up twice already that day, but she still needed to eat. "Sarah cooked it," he assured her, "so it'll taste good."

She looked like she was trying to smile, but it came off as more of a grimace.

He stood over her, looking down, wishing he could do something more. She'd done so much for him his whole life, and all he could do was cover her up and bring her food.

Slowly, she turned her head to the side and reached up for his hand. "Thank you, Michael," she whispered. "I love you."

He squeezed her hand and bent down to kiss her cheek. "I love you, too." No matter how often he told her that these days, he still felt like it wasn't enough.

He trudged downstairs and started getting the pillows arranged on the couch for the night. Whenever he and Sarah came here together, she slept up in his room, and he slept down here. Tonight, though, he wouldn't sleep. He'd stay wide awake and agonize over his sister's predicament, and come morning, he wouldn't feel any better about it.

Sarah came downstairs just as he was about to lie down. She had on pink shorts and a black Hello Kitty t-shirt—a little different than the usual bedroom attire she wore for him, but sexy in a way all its own. Her hair was wet from the shower she'd taken, and her makeup was off.

"Hey," she said gently.

"Hey." What a crappy day this had ended up being. He felt sorry for her for having to endure it with him.

She sat down beside him on the couch, sighing. "How's your mom?"

He shrugged. "Same." She'd probably be that way tomorrow, too. Maybe the whole next week. Hard telling. This whole thing was definitely going to take its toll on her.

"What about you?" she asked.

He shook his head, muttering, "I don't know." He couldn't decide how he was feeling at any given moment. It was like a combination of disappointment and disbelief and anger all rolled into one.

"You were so mad at Nicholas," she said. "I don't think I've ever seen you that mad before."

"No, you haven't." That was a testament, he supposed, to how well things had been going for him for the past two years. He hadn't had any real reason to lose his cool, to lash out, to make threats. But now he did. Instinct had taken over, and he'd wanted to protect his little sister, even though it was clearly too late to do that.

"Have you talked to her?" she questioned.

"No. She locked herself up in her room, so . . ." He shrugged again.

"Michael." She gave him an encouraging look. "Her room's not locked."

He felt his stomach start to churn with nervousness. Was that a sign, then, that she _wanted_ to have a conversation with him about this? Clearly she would have locked her door if she'd _really_ been trying to keep him out.

"You should go talk to her," Sarah suggested.

"And say what?" he spat. "What am I supposed to say to my knocked up thirteen year-old sister?"

"I don't . . ." She shook her head thoughtfully. "I don't think there's anything you're _supposed_ to say."

When she put it like that . . . it made him feel a little better about whatever he would say, because it wouldn't be right or wrong. There was no script to follow, no prescribed lines he was supposed to recite. He could just go up to her room and talk to her, and that would be fine.

Not bothering to knock, he just let himself into his sister's room. She had really changed it these past few years. Instead of her own drawings on the walls, now she had posters of boy bands. And instead of animal figurines on her dresser, there was makeup and perfume.

"Hey," he said.

She took her iPod earphones out and sat up straighter. "Hi."

He closed the door, taking a deep breath, and shuffled towards the bed, taking a seat at the foot of it. For a few seconds, all he could do was just look at her, just look at her and try to remember the little girl who used to beg him to play Barbies with her, or the one who had cried when he headed off to school for the first day of fifth grade, because she'd liked spending so much time with him that summer. Was she even the same girl anymore?

She was the one to break the silence when she asked, "Are you mad at me?"

"No." He was plenty mad, but not directly _at_ her. At Nicholas, sure. At the situation. "I'm just . . ."

"Disappointed?" she filled in.

"Hell yeah, I'm disappointed. And worried. Confused. I—I mean, what were you thinking? This changes your whole life."

"I know." She rolled her eyes. "You sound like a dad right now."

"Well, someone around here should for once," he mumbled. It wasn't like there were any other candidates for the job. "Are you sure Nicholas didn't pressure you? Or force you? 'cause if he forced you . . ."

"He _didn't_ force me," she reassured him, "or pressure me or anything. We just . . . did it. We were hanging out one night this summer, and-"

"This summer?" he cut in, casting a curious glance down at her concealed stomach again. "Holy shit, how far along are you?"

She looked down at the covers sheepishly and revealed, "Three months."

"Three _months_?" No wonder she'd come out and told them then. She wasn't going to be able to conceal it much longer. Michael wasn't an expert on the pregnant body or anything, but he figured she had to have at least a small bump at this point.

"We only did it a couple times this summer," Tina said, "but the first time, we didn't have a . . ." She trailed off, squirming with embarrassment. "You know, he didn't wear a . . ."

"I get it." He really didn't want details. Details made him picture things he didn't want to picture. "Why the hell would you guys do that, Teenie? Why would _you_ do that?"

"Because . . ." She flapped her arms against her sides. "Why not?"

"Why not?" He grunted incredulously. "Gee, I don't know, 'cause you could get pregnant. That's why not."

"But I just figured . . . since I love him . . ."

Michael rolled his eyes at the lunacy of it. "You don't love him."

"Yes, I do," she insisted. "Don't try to tell me how I feel."

"Just-" He bit his tongue. Fair enough. He didn't know what she was feeling or how strongly she was feeling it. Maybe it _was_ possible to find first love at her age, but the chances of it being true love were so fucking slim to none. The sooner she was realistic with herself about that, the better off she'd be.

"I love him," she reiterated, "and he loves me."

"Even if he _does_ love you, Tina, and that's a big if, I guarantee you he didn't want this. He wasn't lookin' to settle down and have a kid. How old is he, like fourteen?"

"He'll be fifteen in December," she informed him.

"Yeah, see? He wasn't lookin' for some lifelong commitment. He was just lookin' to get laid."

"You don't even know him," she snapped. "How would you know what he wanted?"

"Because I used to be that guy, Tina!" he bellowed. "I used to use girls for the same damn thing he used you for. Remember Isabel? What do you think I wanted from her?"

She shifted uncomfortably, like she didn't like thinking about this side of him. But he didn't mind being blunt with her. At this point, there was nothing to lose from it.

"Neither one of us wanted this," she acknowledged, "but . . . he said we'll be okay. He's gonna be there for me."

He grunted. "Like how Max was there for Maria?"

"You were there for her," she pointed out.

He swallowed hard. "For a while."

"You guys loved each other," she reminded him. "A lot."

"Yeah, so?"

"So . . . that's how I love Nicholas."

"No, it's not," he dismissed right away.

"Yeah, it is."

"Teenie, you're a kid. You're a kid who's gonna have a kid." Good God, she was even younger than Maria had been. Maria had dropped out of high school to raise Dylan. Would Tina even make it to high school now?

"You and Maria were kids, too," she pointed out, "and so were you and Isabel. And don't act like you waited, Michael. I know you were, like, my age when you first did it."

"I was a year older."

"Big difference."

"Yeah, you know what, there _is_ a difference," he argued. "I'm a guy; you're a girl. I know it's not fair, but if Nicholas wants to bail on this baby, that's gonna be a lot easier for him to do than you. Girls get the short end of the stick."

"He's not gonna bail," she insisted. "We _really_ love each other, okay? I know we're young, but it's meant to be. That's why I . . ." She trailed off suddenly, looking away.

"That's why you what, Teenie?" he prodded.

"Nothing," she mumbled.

"What'd you do?"

She exhaled heavily. "I was the one who told him we should have sex, okay?"

Just when he thought this whole thing couldn't shock him any more than it already had . . . that. " _What_?"

"It was my idea," she confessed.

"Are you crazy?" he roared.

"No! What's so crazy about doing it with someone you love? I know you and Sarah do it."

"Sarah and I are adults."

"You and Maria weren't!" she blasted. "And you guys did it _all_ the time."

He felt his stomach start to knot up. _Oh god,_ he thought. This was what his mom had been so afraid of back then, wasn't it? This was what she'd cautioned him about, setting such a bad example.

"Didn't you guys think she was pregnant once?"

He shot her a look of alarm. "How'd you know about that?"

"I overheard you talking about it once."

"You mean you eavesdropped?"

" _Whatever_. The point is, you shouldn't lecture me 'cause you used to do the same thing. I mean, you guys lived together and slept in the same bed every night, and Mom and Dad knew exactly what you were doing, but they didn't stop it. And fine, okay, yeah, you were older than me, but not by much."

"By five years, Tina! Do you realize how much can change in five years? Do you realize how much _you_ can change? You can't honestly think you're gonna feel the same way you do right now about Nicholas five years from now. You're not that dumb."

"I love him, Michael!" she cried. "Just like you loved Maria! And you guys were _so_ happy together. And the two of you and Dylan-"

"Oh my god," he grumbled, holding his head in his hands. "Do you even hear yourself? _That's_ your role model relationship? We aren't even together anymore."

"No, but . . ." She whimpered frustratedly. "Michael, can't you just be happy for me?"

"No!" He shot up from the bed, pacing the room a bit, getting more and more infuriated by the second. "No, I can't be _happy_ for you." It was like she had these blinders on, and she just refused to take them off.

"I'm gonna be a mom and you're gonna be an uncle whether you like it or not."

"I don't like it," he ground out. "Okay? I don't. I don't want this for you. And I'm _so_ sorry if anything I did growing up made you think this was the right path for you. But you've gotta be honest with yourself: You know you're too young for this, and you and Nicholas are _not_ me and Maria."

"You're right," she bit out angrily. "Unlike the two of you, we actually _will_ end up together."

He stared at her in complete astonishment. Had she really just said that? She knew how hard his break-up with Maria had been on him; she'd witnessed it firsthand the entire summer afterward. And now she was throwing it back in his face like this? He understood that she was pissed at him for not jumping on board the baby bandwagon, but that was a low fucking blow.

"I'm glad Dad's not here to see you like this," he dished right back.

"You're just glad he's not here." She glared at him, then put her earphones back in and turned up the volume on her iPod again, sinking back down into her covers.

 _Dammit, Teenie._ He felt like this attempt to talk to her had only made things worse. He didn't like knowing what he now knew about how and why this whole thing had transpired, and he didn't like his sister's irresponsible attitude about it.

He left her room, feeling like he'd failed in his attempt to get through to her. If there _had_ been something he was supposedto say . . . he sure as hell hadn't said it.


	8. Chapter 8

Breakfast was Sarah's favorite meal of the day to make, mostly because it was nice to see that smile on Michael's face when he smelled something good right away in the morning. On some mornings, though, like this one, it would be nearly impossible to coax a smile onto his face. Trying her best to do so, though, she brought out the ingredients for omelets.

"Morning," he said, coming up behind her as she cracked three eggs into a bowl. He put his hands on her hips and kissed her cheek, thereby putting a smile on _her_ face.

"Good morning," she responded, adding a dash of water to her concoction. It helped make her omelets light and fluffy.

He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down, yawning. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah." She cast a knowing glance over her shoulder and asked, "You?"

He shrugged. "Off and on here and there."

"Yeah." She'd pretty much figured last night would be a restless one for him. "Well, your room was cozy. Would've been cozier with you next to me, though."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I just . . . I probably shouldn't set the wrong example for my sister. Again."

She frowned, whisking her egg mixture together so that the whites and the yolks blended. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I was a bad big brother," he lamented. "I was always partying, gettin' drunk or gettin' laid. And she noticed that. And knowing I did it made her think it was okay."

"Michael." She lifted the bowl, carefully pouring her mixture into a preheated, buttery skillet. "What happened to Tina is _not_ your fault."

"Maybe it is," he speculated.

"No, it's not." She tapped the bowl against the side of the skillet, trying to get every last bit of the eggs out. "You're too hard on yourself."

"Not hard enough," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. He looked stressed, upset. Not unlike two years ago.

...

 _Michael had been so quiet on the drive to Roswell. Too quiet. In a weird way, she was actually longing for his offensive, ignorant comments about Asians. Or even another terrifying conversation about how in love with Maria he'd been. Anything would have been better than this. This wasn't the Michael she knew and liked so much._

 _As they were about to walk in the house, two people walked out, a man and a woman who looked just slightly too young to be Michael's grandparents. They stopped and appropriately told him, "We're so sorry for your loss."_

" _Yeah, thanks," he muttered, and then they were on their way. "Neighbors," he explained to her. "They hated him."_

Did you? _she wondered, following him into the house. He hadn't divulged many details about his relationship with his father, but from what she understood, it was complicated, maybe even sometimes cruel. An alcohol problem had certainly only fanned the flame over the years._

 _The inside of the house was . . . as simple as the outside. Not a dump, but not a palace, either. Just a normal, inexpensive, and slightly messy home. It was smaller than what Sarah was used to, but it had definitely been . . . lived in. As someone who had moved multiple times in her life, she often longed for a house that had so many memories, even if they weren't all good ones._

 _In the living room was a little girl, curled up on one end of the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest. And the woman Sarah presumed to be Michael's mom was standing near a Christmas tree that was only halfway set up, touching two shiny silver ornaments. One was a letter K, the other a letter A._

" _Mom?" Michael said._

 _She turned around, tears brimming in her eyes. "Oh, honey . . ." She came across the room and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad you're here."_

 _He closed his eyes as he hugged her back, then slowly let her go. "I'm sorry, I broke my phone," he explained, "and I couldn't even think of your number off the top of my head. I'm—I'm a moron."_

" _No, honey, it's fine," she assured him. "I'm just glad you're here now." She smiled shakily, reaching up to stroke his cheek, then glanced behind him at Sarah. "Hello," she greeted softly._

" _Hi," Sarah returned nervously. It was always stressful to meet a guy's mom, but to meet her right now of all times? And mere_ hours _after losing her virginity to the woman's son? More stressful than she ever could have predicted._

" _Oh, Mom, this is Sarah," Michael introduced. "She's . . ."_

 _Sarah tensed._ Oh god. Who am I?

" _Well, she's my girlfriend."_

 _Like a school girl with a crush, her heart skipped a beat._

" _Sarah, this is my mom, Krista."_

" _Nice to meet you," Krista said, extending her hand._

 _Sarah shook it, grateful for the hospitality. "It's nice to meet you, too," she related. "I'm sorry it's under these circumstances."_

 _Krista nodded sadly, her bottom lip trembling as she held back tears. The poor woman._

" _What happened?" Michael asked her._

" _Well . . ." She put her hands on her son's shoulders, gently explaining, "We all knew he had a drinking problem."_

" _Did he kill himself?" Michael asked outright._

 _Sarah couldn't contain her small gasp, but thankfully, Michael and his mom didn't notice._ Kill himself? _she wondered. Was that even a possibility? Michael had said his dad was depressed, but . . . was he really_ that _depressed? She'd never known someone to be so unhappy before._

" _No, he didn't," his mother assured him. "It wasn't like last time."_

 _Sarah frowned. Last time? So something like this had happened before? It made her feel so sorry for Michael. For . . . for her boyfriend. He wasn't a bad guy. He shouldn't have had to deal with all of this._

" _So what happened?" Michael pressed on._

 _His mom opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. So his sister got up from the couch and mumbled, "He choked on his own puke," as she pushed past him and stomped upstairs._

 _Michael looked confused. "What?"_

" _It's, um . . ." His mom took his hand and led him towards the couch, pulling him down beside her. Sarah went over to the Christmas tree unsurely, trying to give them enough space to have their own conversation._

" _It wasn't that he was trying to kill himself," his mother assured him. "There was just too much alcohol in his system."_

Alcohol poisoning, _Sarah registered. She may have just been a college freshman, but she knew her medical facts._

" _I don't get it," Michael said._

" _Well, honey, we just . . . we were arguing, and I came down here to sleep on the couch, and he stayed up in the bedroom, and . . ." Her voice cracked as she trailed off. "He just drank and drank. Too much. The paramedics said there was probably just so much alcohol in his bloodstream that his brain couldn't control his basic functions, and so it dulled his gag reflex."_

 _Sarah shook her head. This was awful. The whole thing was just a nightmare to picture._

" _So he passed out, but he was lying flat on his back, so when he threw up . . ." A strangled sob escaped Michael's mom. "He just choked on it. He couldn't breathe. But he couldn't wake up, either."_

 _Sarah tentatively looked over her shoulder, gauging Michael's reaction. He looked pale, like he was about to throw up himself. She was used to seeing him with a flirtatious grin on his face and a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Not like this._

 _And then, as if it couldn't get any worse, his mom revealed, "Tina was the one who found him."_

 _Sarah winced. That poor little girl. She couldn't even imagine the horror of walking into a bedroom to find your dad just lying there, dead._

" _I have to go talk to her," he decided abruptly. He stood and shot Sarah and quick look, and she just nodded, letting him know she'd be fine down here._

 _He hurried upstairs, and seconds after the door to his sister's room opened and closed again, Sarah heard her start crying._

" _Oh, I'm sorry you have to be here for this," Krista apologized, raking her hands through her hair._

" _It's okay." Sarah left the tree's side and sat down beside her. "I offered to come."_

" _That's thoughtful of you."_

" _Well . . ." She shrugged. "I think a lot of Michael."_

 _Krista looked relieved to have something else, something_ good _, to talk about. "How long have you two been seeing each other?" she asked._

" _Just a few weeks." Two, to be exact, but . . . no need to be specific. She didn't want Michael's mom to think they were rushing things. Sure, the relationship was happening fast, but . . . it all felt right._

" _You're the first girl he's taken a chance on since . . ." She trailed off, as if she weren't sure whether or not she should say the other name._

" _Maria," Sarah filled in. So far, she still barely knew anything about this girl, but she sure seemed to have had a major impact on Michael's life. It was sort of intimidating._

" _He told you about her?" Krista sounded surprised._

" _Yeah." She tried to quell her own nervousness as she acknowledged, "They were in love."_

" _They were," Krista agreed. "But she's been gone for a long time now, so between you and me . . ." She managed an encouraging smile. "It's good that he's moving on."_

 _Sarah sighed happily. Was it wrong to feel happy when this family was so sad? She felt horrible for them, but in some ways . . . these past twenty-four hours had been the greatest twenty-four hours of her life. Memories of Michael's hands on her hips and tangled in her hair were still fresh in her mind. She wanted to feel his kiss on the side of her neck again. It made her insides quiver just thinking about it._

 _She wanted to say something more, maybe tell Krista how amazing she thought Michael was, how proud of him she should be. But before she got the chance, the noise upstairs got louder. She heard the door open, and seconds later, Michael's sister came pouring down the stairs, weeping. He was right behind her, and when she tripped and fell at the bottom, he was there to catch her. He took her smaller frame into his arms and sank down on the floor with her, holding her tightly while she clung to him and cried._

" _Shh, it's okay," he soothed her, rocking her back and forth gently. "I got you. I got you."_

Oh my god, _Sarah thought. Seeing Michael comfort his sister was . . . beautiful. Tragic, but touching. As much as she loved seeing the sides of Michael she'd gotten to know, it was refreshing to see this side of him, too, this vulnerable, deeper one. She'd gotten a glimpse of it when he'd brought her back to her dorm yesterday and told her about Maria and Dylan, but this was a whole new level of it._

I love you, Michael, _she thought, surprising even herself with that feeling. But it was there, and it was obvious, and it was strong._

...

Sarah set Michael's omelet down in front him, made just the way he liked it with crumbled bacon, diced tomatoes, and cheddar cheese on the inside. He inhaled deeply and smiled up at her, wordlessly communicating his gratitude.

"You're a good big brother," she reassured him, bending down to kiss his cheek. "And a good boyfriend."

He grunted, and she couldn't tell whether that was because he didn't believe her, or because he took pride in what she'd said. Knowing him and knowing his complexities, it was probably a combination of the two.

"Eat up," she urged.

"Alright." He picked up his fork and dug right in. "Looks good."

...

Without a doubt, Michael's favorite class was Professor Barnaby's Social Psychology class. It probably didn't hurt that half the semester was devoted to discussing the psychology of human sexuality. Most of the time, the reading Michael was assigned to do felt more like reading for fun than it did a homework assignment. But as he sat on the couch that evening, skimming through the pages of the latest assigned chapter, he couldn't help but feel . . . differently about the material. For example, one paragraph talked about a research study focusing on the success rates of people who lost their virginity later on in life, after the age of nineteen. And apparently the study concluded that those people would have a higher income, higher education, and more healthy marital relationship than those who lost their virginity earlier.

 _Well, that bodes well for Sarah,_ he thought. _Not so much for anyone else in this house. Including Tina._

He hated that his sister wasn't a little innocent girl anymore. He just _hated_ it. And maybe that made him hypocritical as hell, but he just didn't care.

"You read?"

He glanced up from his book and saw Tina standing near the bottom of the stairs. "Yeah, quite fluently, in fact."

She ambled into the living room, asking, "Since when do you read?"

He placed his book mark in between the pages and shut the book, setting it aside on the coffee table. "I got a psychology test Wednesday. Gotta know my stuff."

"Hmm." She sat down beside him, sighing. "God, it's like we switched places. I used to be the smart one; you used to be the wild one."

"You're still smart," he assured her. And truth be told, he could still be wild. It was just more freak beneath the sheets stuff than it was having a drunken time at a public party these days.

"No, I did a really dumb thing," she admitted. "It was stupid, I know."

Well . . . that was progress, he supposed, her saying that out loud. "So you regret it," he concluded.

"I don't . . ." She hesitated. "I don't know. I mean, I didn't _want_ this to happen. I didn't think it would, but . . . it did, so . . ." She shrugged. "I have to deal with it."

"You _and_ Nicholas," he reminded her. No way was that little punk going to get off scot-free and leave her to deal with this all on her own.

"Yeah, me and him," she echoed. "We'll manage."

"How?" He was really interested to see if she had some sort of plan. They hadn't talked about it all day, but surely she'd thought about it. "Are you guys gonna raise it or give it up for adoption?"

She didn't even hesitate. "I'm _not_ giving it up for adoption," she said decidedly.

"You wouldn't even consider it?" It seemed like the best course of action to him.

"No." She crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head stubbornly. "No way."

"Why not?"

"Because it's _my_ baby. If you and Sarah had a baby, would you give it up?"

"No, but that's different. We're adults."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, if you actually _had_ gotten Maria pregnant back in the day, would you have given that baby up?"

He sighed. Great, she had him there. "No."

"See?"

It still wasn't the same, though. "But we were older-"

She shot him a warning look, like she wasn't about to have this same conversation all over again.

 _Let it go,_ he told himself. She still had some time to change her mind, and hopefully she would, but for now, trying to convince her to change her mind would probably only make things worse. "So you're gonna raise it," he recapped. "It's gonna be tough. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know. I've watched _Teen Mom._ "

He laughed worriedly at that. Yeah, so had he—a fact which he would deny until his dying day—but that didn't mean anything. " _Teen Mom_ offers up a paycheck and puts cool music in the background of every scene. That's not real life."

"It's real enough," she insisted. "Look, I know it's not gonna be easy, but at least I have Nicholas. And Mom will help me, and I have you."

"Yeah, and I'll help however I can," he offered, "but I'm hardly ever here. I have school and work and Sarah and Kyle to think about. And Mom's plenty busy. She doesn't need to be raising another kid."

"She won't." Tina sounded confident, but . . . of course she did. She was thirteen. Naïve. Clueless. Well, maybe not completely clueless since she'd at least acknowledged that she'd made a stupid mistake.

"Are you scared?" he asked her bluntly.

She thought about it a moment, then nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, kinda."

 _Good,_ he thought. _You should be._ He would have been even more worried about her if she wasn't scared at all.

...

Tina laughed as Shango chased her around the yard. She had to run slowly so he could keep up, but eventually, he got to her and pawed at the back of her leg. "You got me!" she exclaimed, picking him up. "You're so cute, Shango!"

Michael sat on the porch with his mom while Sarah attempted to get Shango all interested in a stick, and Tina tried to convince him to chase after it. Leave it to the dog to get everyone in a good mood. Or as good of a mood as possible, at least.

"She still looks like my little girl," his mom said sorrowfully, staring at her daughter.

"She still is," he reminded her. It didn't matter how badly Tina screwed up. She was still the same person, and they still loved her. He didn't want his mom to develop the same kind of hostility with her that he'd seen between Amy and Maria. "She's really gonna need you to be there for her. I mean, I'll try to help, too, but-"

"No, you need to focus on school and everything you've got going on," she said. "That'll make me feel better, knowing that at least your life's headed in the right direction."

He chuckled at the irony of it all, the complete unpredictability of it. "Who would've thought, huh? I mean, growing up, I'm sure you always thought I'd be the one havin' a kid at such a young age."

"Well . . . don't take this the wrong way," she cautioned, "but yeah, I did. Tina was supposed to be the easy one to raise. I just . . . I don't know what I did wrong."

Michael watched his sister dump a pile of leaves on Shango. He shook them off and then tried to tackle her. She played along with him, falling over onto the grass exaggeratedly, and he climbed on top of her and started licking her face.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he reassured his mom. "We both know she's been obsessed with boys and popularity for the past three years."

"I should've never let her have a boyfriend," she mumbled regretfully.

"Well, maybe I never should've lived with my girlfriend and proposed to my girlfriend and offered to adopt my girlfriend's son, all right in front of an impressionable middle schooler. Maybe it's my fault," he supposed.

"Oh, honey, it's not. If anything . . . it's the opposite. Going to college, doing so well . . . you've set a good example for her."

"Yeah, lately." What if the damage had already been done, though? What if he'd started setting a positive example for her just a little too late?

"Maybe it has to do with your father," his mom speculated sadly. "They weren't close, but I'm not sure she'll ever get over losing him."

"And finding him," he added on. "I mean, being the _one_ person to find him dead . . ." He shook his head, wishing it would have been him who'd done that. He might have been able to handle it better. "I'm sure that screwed her up."

"Oh, I'm sure," his mother agreed. "I don't know. She and I need to have a long talk today. I'm keeping her home from school."

"Just her and you," he advised. "No Nicholas."

"No," she agreed. "You know, he's always been polite enough whenever he's come over, but I've never liked how serious they've been at such a young age. And he doesn't come from the greatest home life—his dad is _very_ hands off—so I always worried what they might be doing when they're over at his house with no supervision. But I should've just—I needed to put my foot down and I didn't." She shrugged sadly. "And now she's pregnant."

Michael shuddered inwardly. Never _ever_ would he get used to hearing that word in connection with his sister. Ever.

"I really don't know what's gonna happen to her," his mother said.

He wished he could promise that everything was going to be alright, that Tina and Nicholas would make it, that having a baby would help both of them grow up and mature. But it was all uncertain, all of it. Would she graduate high school? Get a job someday? Would she be happy? Neither of them had any way of knowing, and teen pregnancy statistics didn't bode well.

...

Michael groaned, flopping down on the couch when they got back to campus. He felt spent already, and it wasn't even noon yet. "It's good to be home," he said, wishing they hadn't headed to Roswell for the weekend. If he hadn't gone, then maybe Tina wouldn't have spilled the beans about her . . . condition. He could have lived in blissful ignorance to it a little longer.

"It was a wacky weekend," Sarah agreed, dropping her purse by the door. She kicked off her shoes and made her way to the TV, turning it on, as if she just knew he'd be too lazy to reach for the remote himself. And he was. In fact, the only thing he had the energy to do was to bend down and lift Shango up so that he could hold him and pet him.

Sarah put her hands on her hips, shaking her head in dismay as he let Shango climb up on his shoulder and nip at his ear. "You really love that dog, don't you?"

"He's my soul mate," he claimed.

"Aw, and here I thought I was your soul mate." She smiled teasingly, patting his shoulder as she headed back towards the bathroom.

"Oh, baby, you are," he assured her, "but Shango's my soul mate, too."

"Well, it's good to know there are three of us in this relationship." She stripped off her shirt, tossing it onto the floor, and revealed, "I'm gonna shower before I head out to class. Care to join me?"

And in an instant, it was _just_ the two of them again in their relationship again, and he was setting Shango aside. "Sure," he said, getting to his feet. Yeah, he was tired, but he still had enough energy to fool around with her.

She giggled and slipped into the bathroom, and he peeled his shirt off and followed her.

...

Alex usually tried to swing by Parker's Pastries every day, usually for a quick breakfast, but sometimes for a lunchtime snack, too. He liked supporting Liz's business, and her food was good. She always made plenty of pies and cakes and doughnuts, of course, but she had branched out these past few months to include strudels and puddings, croissants and sweet pretzels. Today she was baking something new, something that smelled unfamiliar, but good.

"Hey, you," she greeted when the door chimed. "You're just in time to try one of these." She held up a small glass bowl of what looked like little brown balls.

"What are those?" he asked, reaching out for one.

"Careful," she said, swatting his hand away. "They're hot." She plucked one out of the bowl with a napkin and handed it to him. "Try it," she urged.

He breathed in the appetizing smell for a second, then took a bite. It had a moist, easy-to-chew texture and a sweet, sugary taste. "Mmm," he said. "That's good. What is that?"

"It's called _gulab jamun_ ," she replied. "It's Middle Eastern. I thought I'd branch out and try a new recipe."

He took another bite, teasing, "Trying to capitalize on Carlsbad's ever-growing Arab population, huh?"

"Okay, maybe I should have made something Spanish," she acknowledged, "but I really wanted to try this. Plus, my empanadas sell out just fine."

"No, this is good," he said, finishing off what she'd given him. "I think I'll just have my usual, though."

"Okay." She set the bowl down on the counter, then reached into the glass display case for a bear claw doughnut, the biggest one, of course. "You're the first customer of the day," she told him as she dropped it into a sack.

"Really?" He glanced at the clock, finding that a bit surprising.

"I opened late," she told him. "Scarlet was having one of her fussy mornings, and it started at 4:00 a.m."

"Ooh." He winced.

"Yeah."

"Is she here?"

"Uh-huh. Sound asleep in the back. Of course." She took his money in exchange for the sack with the doughnut in it. "So she'll probably be up all night tonight."

"Probably," he agreed. Scarlet was pretty mellow most of the time, but she was getting ready to enter those terrible twos parents always dreaded.

"Hey, um . . . speaking of tonight . . ." She leaned against the counter, biting her lower lip. "I have a huge favor to ask."

She didn't even have to ask it for him to know what it was. "You want me to watch Scarlet tonight, don't you?"

"Would you, please?" she begged. "I have a date with this guy, but the sitter called me this morning and said she was feeling a little under the weather, but she still thought she'd be able to watch Scarlet. But I don't want Scarlet around her if she's feeling sick, you know?"

"Yeah, that's no problem," he assured her. That was what a god-parent was supposed to do, and since Scarlet's god _mother_ was Liz's cousin from Florida, Alex didn't mind stepping up and assuming some extra responsibility.

"Are you sure?" she said. "Because if you had plans, I can just find another babysitter."

"I'd love to watch her," he assured her. "Just bring her on by whenever you need to."

Liz bounced up and down a few times excitedly. "Oh, thank you so much, Alex. You're a life-saver."

"It's no problem," he reiterated. Really, he enjoyed spending time with Scarlet a lot. He took his bear claw out of the sack and bit into it. Good as ever. "So who're you goin' out with?"

"Well, his name's Doug Shellow," she relayed. "He came in here a few times last week, and we just started talking and seemed to hit it off. He came by on Saturday and asked me out."

"Good guy?" Alex asked.

"Oh, yeah, totally. He just got his master's in the spring. He works for his dad's marketing firm. Very clean-cut, very polite."

"Opposite of Sean then?" he summarized.

"Yeah. He just seems like a nice, mature guy, which is what I need right now."

"Yeah." Truth be told, Sean wasn't a bad guy. He just had always been _way_ too immature and irresponsible to date a woman who had a child.

"So thank you for watching Scarlet so I can go out with him tonight," Liz said. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Alex."

He smiled appreciatively, even though she would have done just fine. Liz Parker had never stopped being destined for success and happiness, even though she'd doubted it for a while there. His friendship and his support, he hoped, was just something that would help make success and happiness a little easier for her to attain.

Unfortunately, when he got home that afternoon and told Leanna that he had agreed to babysitting duty tonight, she wasn't as excited about it as Liz was. "You did _what_?" she shrieked. "Alex, why would you do that? We're supposed to be going out on a date tonight."

"I know, but Liz needed help," he tried to explain. "And it's just Scarlet. We like taking care of her."

"No, _you_ like taking care of her," his wife corrected adamantly. "I like going out with you. On dates."

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Well, maybe we could . . . order pizza and watch a movie?" he proposed.

She rolled her eyes at the idea. "How romantic."

"Come on, what was I supposed to say? 'No, Liz, find somebody else?'"

"Yes. That's _exactly_ what you were supposed to say. But of course you wouldn't say that, not to your precious Liz Parker." Leanna grunted, shaking her head. "You know, most wives wouldn't be so at ease with their husbands being best friends with an ex-girlfriend."

 _This is you being at ease with it?_ he thought. _Damn._ He would have hated to see the opposed version of her. "Leanna, we've been through this," he reminded her calmly. "I'm Scarlet's godfather, and I promised Liz years ago that I'd be there for her however I can."

...

 _This poor girl. She was a mess. Alex felt his heart go out to her as she sat at the counter of the Crashdown, crying, worrying. He sat beside her well past closing, rubbing her back, trying to make her feel better. She really did look a lot different from the wide-eyed, eager freshman he'd met during the fall semester. Besides the baby bump, she just looked . . . not so naïve. Not so wide-eyed. Not so eager._

" _I'm sorry," she apologized through tears. "You shouldn't have to deal with this."_

" _It's okay." He didn't mind. Somebody had to help her through her pregnancy, since the baby's father had jumped ship._

" _I'm just_ so _scared," she fretted. "My parents keep telling me it's gonna be okay, and I know they're gonna help, but I still worry."_

" _I think that's natural."_

" _I'm gonna be a single mom, Alex." She stared at him with watery eyes and mascara tracks down her cheeks. "I'm only gonna be twenty years old, and I'm gonna have this baby that's totally dependent on me. And I don't wanna be the kind of parent who resents her child, but . . . what if I never make something of myself, you know? Am I gonna work here at my parents' restaurant and live in my parents' house for the rest of my life?"_

" _No, of course not," he assured her. "For a while, yeah. But not forever." He felt bad for her, because here he was getting ready to go back to school. If all went according to plan, he'd be graduating this year, and then he'd start pursuing his master's next year. She valued her education, too, just like he did, but she was having to put it on hold._

" _I wanted to be a molecular biologist," she mumbled dejectedly. "That's not gonna happen now."_

" _Well, what else do you wanna do?" he asked, thinking there had to be some other options._

" _I don't . . . I don't know," she sputtered. "Maybe . . ." She wiped the tears off her face, looking a little bit calmer now. "Well, you know, my dad always thought about expanding the Crashdown, like maybe branching out to a nicer restaurant or like a—like a pastry shop?"_

" _Yeah?"_

" _Yeah. And I know how to cook, so maybe I could do that."_

" _Maybe." He actually thought Liz would be great at starting her own business. She would have her father's support and experience to guide her. Maybe once she had a little time to get used to being a mother, she'd give it a shot._

 _She sniffed back the remainder of her tears, managing a tiny smile. "Thank you, Alex," she said. "You always make me feel better."_

" _Well . . ." He shrugged. "I try."_

" _I'm so glad you've been around this summer," she admitted. "You've been such a good friend."_

" _Well, so have you." He didn't typically have a lot of female friends, mostly because girls made him nervous—sweaty palms came to mind. Sure, he might have been friends with Isabel once, but his feelings for her had always run deeper. But getting to know Liz this summer, getting to know her without the complications of dating attached . . . it had been nice. It was pretty obvious that she was becoming his best friend, and he knew he was becoming hers._

" _Listen, don't ever feel like you're alone in this or like you can't handle it," he told her, wanting her to know that he wasn't going to just disappear as soon as school started up again. "I'll be there for you, whenever you need me."_

 _More tears spilled over, but relieved ones this time. "That's good," she said. "Because I don't think Max will ever be."_

 _He shook his head, hating to agree with that. But she was right. It didn't seem likely._

...

Leanna crossed her arms over her chest, an angry, frustrated look on her face. "Yeah, I know you promised you'd be there for her," she growled. "It'd just be nice if you were there for me once in a while, too." Her blonde hair whirled over her shoulder as she spun and stormed off into the bedroom.

Alex sank down onto the couch, waiting for the door to slam shut.

...

Tess didn't feel like she'd gotten enough sleep when she woke up the next morning. She rarely did these days. Between work as a cheer coach and taking care of Kyle, it felt like she had two jobs, both of which were frustrating and unrewarding.

She was alone in the bed, so she got up and padded out into the living room in her t-shirt and undies, yawning. "Kyle, are you up?" She stopped in the living room, though, disheartened by the sight of him. He was lying on the couch, covered up by a ratty old afghan that needed to either be washed thoroughly or thrown out altogether. His right arm dangled down onto the floor, still holding onto the remote control.

Even though she already knew what he'd been watching, she stepped forward and glanced at the TV screen anyway. It was footage from his first and only college game, and it was paused right on a shot of him lying flat on the ground, Michael at his side, yelling for help. It was an image that was plastered all over the Internet, too. Everyone who watched football had seen it. Hundreds of thousands of people had posted comments on all sorts of sites and message boards about how unbelievably awful and tragic at was.

They had no idea, though, just how tragic it truly was. She knew, only because she saw the despair and disappointment every day in her fiancé's eyes. Eyes that had once been so lively, so full of hope and excitement and promise.

She wondered if her eyes looked the same.

"Oh, Kyle . . ." she sighed, bending down to pry the remote out of his hand. He stirred but didn't wake up as she slipped it from his grasp and turned the TV off. How long had he stared at that paused image on the TV screen? How bad had he made himself feel? Why didn't he understand that things might get better if he finally just stopped living in the past?

Before she headed into the kitchen to make breakfast, she tossed the remote on the floor, a few feet away from the couch, just out of his reach so he'd actually have to move to get it.

...

Halfheartedly applauding another boring piece of poetry, Isabel's stomach started to tighten in nervousness. She was up next, and even though she was a strong writer and was pretty sure she had one of the best poems in the class, she was nervous about reading it in front of everyone. She hadn't shared any of her writing with any of her classmates, and she knew they would judge her for it. They would listen to it, and _if_ they understood it—and that was a big if considering half of them still looked hung-over from the last Thirsty Thursday bash—then they would probably think she was being hypocritical, or just whining. But Alex's instructions with this assignment had been to tackle a social issue, and she sure had. In fact, she'd tackled one that was very personal to her.

"Alright, Isabel," Alex said, motioning to the podium. "You're up."

She sighed shakily, bringing her poem with her to the front of the room. She stepped behind the podium, momentarily imagining that she was back at graduation, about to give the valedictorian speech that no one had ever gotten to hear, the one that lay crumpled up in the darkest corners of her closet, collecting dust. It really had been a good speech. She would have loved to have given it.

But this wasn't graduation, and the piece of writing in front of her wasn't at all a speech. It was slam poetry. It was creative, and it was honest.

She cast a quick glance at Alex, hoping he would appreciate this, maybe give her a good grade for once. "It's called 'The Painting,'" she told the class. And then she started in.

" _It's all I have to do to draw your eyes_

 _Step foot outside my door in innocence._

 _My smile fades into oblivion_

 _I do not love your sexual critique."_

She glanced up, gauging the reaction. Lots of surprised looks on judgmental faces, like they couldn't believe the porn girl had the guts to write about sex. She made sure to say the next stanza louder, with more conviction.

" _Your thoughts are not at all a mystery_

 _I step outside and hear them loud and clear:_

' _The artist could have made her breasts more full,_

 _And longer, thinner legs, more perfect skin.'"_

She gripped the sides of the podium tightly, feeling the same anger that had inspired the poem rising up inside again, threatening to unleash itself.

" _I never meant to be a work of art,_

 _So open to your obvious intrigue._

 _Yet here I am displayed for you to see_

 _An object in your private gallery."_

She thought of the losers at the birthday party the other night, the ones who had actually expected to get to have sex with her, and she remembered Jesse's lackluster defense of what little honor she had left, and it made her feel even more pissed.

" _My femininity makes me a prize_

 _You wish to touch the small canvas you view,_

 _To hang me on your wall and stare for days._

 _You think I am incapable of more."_

She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, literally shaking when she opened them again.

" _I swear to God I did not ask for this,_

 _The silent pain a woman always bears._

 _You will not see my watercolor rage_

 _You bastard, arrogant art connoisseur."_

And then there was silence. Only silence. As if no one in the class knew what to say. No one could even applaud. Even Alex looked a little stunned, like he hadn't expected her to actually put effort into this assignment or even finish it. At last, though, he started the applause, and the rest of the class joined in. They were looking at each other and whispering things, though. Everyone in that class always whispered about her.

"Thank you for sharing that, Isabel," Alex said. "Can we get some feedback?"

No hands went to offer compliments or even a constructive critique. Isabel stood behind that podium, feeling awkward and more exposed than she ever had in any X-rated scene she'd filmed. Finally, when the hand of a freshman in the front row finally did go up into the air, it was only to say, "Mr. Whitman, it's time for us to go."

"Oh." Alex glanced at the clock. "Oh, it is. Sorry about that. Uh, you can keep the hard copies of your poems; just make sure you share the GoogleDocs copy with me by the end of the day to avoid it being counted late. Have a good day, you guys."

A few people chimed, "You, too," and then they lost themselves in their own meaningless chatter as they packed up their backpacks and shuffled out of the classroom. Isabel stayed behind a bit, debating what to do with the hard copy of her poem. It wasn't like she could take it home and put it on the refrigerator the way she used to do with all her writing assignments in middle school. Jesse would be concerned if he saw it. Or . . . maybe he wouldn't be concerned at all. Either way, it wasn't good.

She crumpled up her poem and tossed it in the trash, then grabbed her purse, flung it over her shoulder, and walked by Alex on her way out of the classroom.

"I knew you could do better," he called after her.

She stopped for a moment in the hallway, her back to him, and smiled. And then she continued on her way.

...

On the way to psychology class, Michael's phone rang. "Crazy girl," was the way he answered it, because even without looking at the caller ID, he knew she was the one calling.

"Hey, I can't talk long 'cause my class is about to start," she said, "but I just wanted to see if you got all that practicum paperwork filled out and dropped off."

"Yep. I get to start this week," he informed her as he dodged a skateboarder coming in the opposite direction down the sidewalk.

"Oh, good, that's so exciting!" she exclaimed. "Those kids are gonna love you. Or . . . respect you. That's more important."

"Yeah," he agreed. Truthfully, he was just hoping he didn't offer up any stupid advice or say something to fuck up some kid's psyche for life.

"Well, I got roped into helping this girl in my organic chemistry class study tonight," she told him, "so unfortunately I'm not gonna be home at my usual time. Gonna be a late night."

"I can cook dinner and have it waiting for you," he offered.

"Macaroni and cheese out of the box?" she guessed.

"Probably." Even with her tutelage, that was the only thing he could make that didn't taste like crap.

Luckily, she wasn't high-maintenance. "Sounds good to me," she chirped. "I'll see you later. Love you."

"Bye." He ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket and readjusted his backpack on his shoulders. The familiar chime from the clock tower on campus rang out, signaling that it was 9:00. Fifteen minutes until class started. He had plenty of time.

He slowed down to a leisurely pace, content to just take his time and people watch on his way to class—a habit Sarah had gotten him into—when he caught sight of . . . someone.

Someone he couldn't look away from. She was across the street, walking down the sidewalk, not paying attention to anything or anyone around her.

He stopped. And he stared.

Blonde hair. Long legs. Jean shorts, red and black plaid shirt and cowboy boots. She had sunglasses on, even though it wasn't sunny, and she had an iPod in her hand, earphones in her ears. The slight breeze blew her hair back over her shoulder, and he saw those familiar full lips.

It was _her_.

His mouth hung open in amazement, and he stood, frozen in place as she walked on. It was if time slowed down, and she was going in slow motion. And all he could do was watch her.

 _Maria._

She pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, and frowned as she shuffled through the songs on her iPod. He wondered what she was listening to, if she was humming it.

It all came flooding back to him. Her voice, her eyes . . .

Maria DeLuca was _here_. Right in front of him.

But she was walking away. Her back was to him now, and she was heading somewhere at a much more brisk pace than he was. Slack-jawed, his eyes stayed glued to her as he followed. He didn't want to let her out of his sight.

He didn't even realize he'd stepped off the sidewalk and down onto the street until a car's brakes screeched as it tried unsuccessfully to stop. It plowed straight into him, and he rolled up onto the hood and off the side, landing right next to the sidewalk he should have stayed on.

"Oh my god!" he heard people shouting, and immediately, a crowd formed around him to see if he was okay.

 _Holy shit,_ he thought, gathering himself as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. _Did I just get hit by a car?_

The driver got out, a young girl who was already a hysterical mess, and cried, "I had a green light! I tried to stop! I-"

Michael stood up, looking around frantically, trying to spot Maria again. But there were too many people around him now. And she wasn't one of them.

Where was she?

"Are you okay?" somebody asked him. "Bro, you okay?"

 _Maria._ He needed to find her. Nothing else mattered. "I'm fine," he said, picking up his backpack again. It had a hole in it now. Stuff was falling out.

"I'm so sorry!" the driver apologized. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He pushed past her and everyone else, ignoring the person who said, "Hey, man, you should sit down. You just got hit by a car."

He didn't care.

He darted across the street, now safely under the protection of the crosswalk pedestrian light, and ran down the sidewalk, searching for her. Where was that blonde hair? He wanted to catch sight of it again.

Maybe he should have been sore, but nothing even hurt as he ran in the general direction she'd been heading. But he kept _not_ seeing her, and that kept being discouraging to him. There were plenty of buildings she could have gone into, and dozens of classrooms in each of those buildings. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. He had no idea where she was now.

The fact that he was chasing after her was not lost on him. He'd done the same thing over two years ago, when he'd fled his own high school graduation to try to get her to stay . . . but she'd just left. Left him. Left town.

She was in _this_ town now. He knew he hadn't been seeing things.

Only once he got to Plaza Verde did he finally stop running. A crew of guys he didn't know were playing a game of Frisbee like he and Fly always played. He dropped his backpack on the grass and flopped down beside it disappointedly, catching his breath as he just sat there, hoping she'd walk on by again. Knowing she probably wouldn't.

And that was probably for the best.


	9. Chapter 9

His brain . . . it couldn't concentrate. _Just like old times,_ he thought bitterly as he dazed off while Professor Barnaby discussed . . . something with the class. Something he'd read about over the weekend but still needed to rehash before the next quiz. Something he probably should have been paying attention to. But he couldn't.

He kept picturing it over and over again in his mind: seeing her, thinking it couldn't possibly be her but knowing it was. He'd never felt so fucking floored in his life.

"Michael?"

He looked up, momentarily snapping himself out of his stupor. His professor was staring at him expectantly.

"Do you know the answer?"

He didn't. For the first time since he'd started college, he actually felt like that same idiot he'd been in all his high school classrooms, the kid who hadn't even known the question. "No," he replied.

Professor Barnaby wrinkled his face in surprise, but he didn't linger too long. "How about someone over here?" he said, scanning the left side of the lecture hall. "Anyone?"

No one knew the answer. Either that or no one felt like raising their hands.

The day was long, and Michael spent the majority of it not focusing. He spaced out during his other classes, he spaced out at work, and he spaced out on calling his mom when he got home. He _did_ remember to make the macaroni and cheese he'd promised Sarah would be waiting for her when she got home, though. Except he hadn't been paying attention, and he'd accidentally added too much milk, so it was more like macaroni and cheese soup, but . . . oh, well. It still tasted good enough.

It was starting to thicken up by the time Sarah got home, but it was also still cooling off. She didn't act disappointed that it was a failure of a dinner; instead, she just told him it looked good and started setting out plates for the two of them at the table.

"Sorry, I messed it up," he apologized again, standing before the stove, stirring it halfheartedly.

"No, it'll be fine," she assured him, pouring herself a glass of milk. She held up the half empty carton, giving him a look to ask if he wanted some, and he shook his head. He wasn't a big milk drinker. Besides, he'd get enough of it in this fucking macaroni . . .

"You okay?" she asked him, brushing past him to put the milk back in the fridge.

"Yeah," he replied. "It was just a long day."

"Tell me about it," she groaned. "My study session was endless. Ivy—the girl I was helping—she has, like, no clue what chemistry even is. She should _not_ be in the class."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. At one point, she even had to ask me what asymmetric induction was. Can you believe that?"

"No," he played along. "Everyone knows that." Hell if he knew.

"Exactly." She leaned against the refrigerator, giving him a look. "Oh, whatever, don't act like you know what that means."

"Well, you don't know what dromophobia means," he countered.

"Fear of crossing streets. You told me once."

"Oh." He scratched his eyebrow. "Damn." If he kept telling her what all these different kinds of phobias were, he was going to have no leverage over her academically. Except his GPA. Although, if he kept having distracted days in the classroom like this one, she'd probably surpass him soon enough.

It was distracting him even now, and he hated that. He just wanted to be there with her, and for the night to be normal. But that dull ache in his back kept reminding him that it wasn't. The adrenaline had worn off, and he was sore. And tired. And not sure what to tell her about everything that had happened to him today.

"Hey, speaking of . . . dromophobia," he segued awkwardly, ". . . I might actually have that now."

"Okay," she said, laughing as she took the spoon from him and started stirring the runny noodles. "Why?"

"Well, I kinda . . . got hit by a car today."

She made a face. "What?"

"Yeah."

"You did not."

He'd show her the bruises on his knees and back if he had to, but that would probably freak her out. "I actually did," he said calmly. "I just wasn't looking where I was going and . . ."

Her eyes widened in horror, and her mouth slowly dropped open in shock. "Oh . . . my god," she breathed, dropping the spoon back into the bowl. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

She was immediately holding his shoulders, touching him as if to make sure he was okay. "You got _hit_ by a _car_?"

"Yeah, this morning, on my way to class."

She started feeling his chest and stomach, and he wasn't sure why. Wasn't like he had any broken ribs or anything. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just rolled up on the hood and-"

"You _rolled up on the hood_?"

Hmm. Maybe he shouldn't have told her that. "Yeah, and then I just rolled right back off again." It sounded a lot worse than it really had been.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?" she pressed, lifting up his shirt a bit. She gasped when she saw the bruises on his side. They had been red at first. Now they were more of a purple. "I need to take you to the doctor," she said. "You're hurt."

"No, I'm just sore," he insisted. "I'm not hurt. Promise."

"What if you _are_ hurt?" She stroked his bruised flesh gently, concerned. She was trying to blink them back, but he saw tears in her gorgeous eyes.

"I'm fine." He lifted her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. "Hey . . . it wasn't a big deal."

"You got hit by a car, Michael. Of course it was a big deal. I mean, what were you even doing that made you so distracted?"

He tensed for a second, flashing back to the same image that had clouded his mind all day. Maria DeLuca casually strolling across _his_ college campus, not noticing him but somehow making it impossible for him to _not_ notice her. "iPod," he blurted, remembering how she'd been so entranced with that, so absorbed that she probably hadn't even heard the car crash. "I was messing with my iPod, and . . ."

"Oh god, Michael . . ." She cringed. "You have to be more careful than that."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad you're okay." She slipped her arms around his torso and hugged him, resting her head against his chest. "It could've been really bad."

He stroked her hair and traced his hands up and down her spine, mumbling, "Yeah, it could've," in agreement. He felt bad for not telling her everything, but he didn't want to make her feel even worse. He'd already given her enough reason to be worried about him; there was no need to multiply it.

...

Kyle was struggling. But then again, that wasn't anything new. Even though he was slowing down and looked exhausted, he kept walking, though. He seemed too blown away by the news Michael had just shared with him to care about going back home.

"Pretty hard to believe, right?" Michael said, walking backwards in front of Kyle, guiding him onto the bleachers.

"Uh, yeah, I'd say so." Kyle shook his head in dismay. "I can't believe she's pregnant. Remember when she used to have a crush on me?"

"Yeah." Michael smiled, remembering the way Tina used to get all excited whenever Kyle would come over. She used to try on five different outfits to try to impress him. He wished she still had a crush on Kyle, or anyone, really. _Just_ a crush. Not a sex life.

"You think she's gonna be okay?" Kyle asked.

"I have no idea," he admitted, still hoping that she'd come to her senses and give the baby up for adoption. But she probably wouldn't. She was way too young and naïve.

"I bet you wanted to kill her boyfriend," Kyle said, hesitantly glancing out at the practice field as they rounded the side of the bleachers and started in towards the stands.

"I just about did."

"He's in high school?"

"Ninth grade." Michael rolled his eyes. Wasn't like Nicholas was any more prepared to have a baby than Tina was. And given the fact that guys matured more slowly than girls did, he was probably even _less_ prepared. That wasn't exactly a comforting thought.

"Crazy," Kyle summarized. "I never would've imagined . . ."

"I know." A lot of things had happened in the past few years that he never would have imagined, some of them good, some of them bad. This was one of the bad ones, one of the unexpected ones, just like Kyle's career-ending injury had been.

All of a sudden, Kyle stopped, as if he refused to go any further, and he just sat down on the bottom bleacher, staring out at the football field. The Aggies team was just heading out onto the field for practice. "Did we have to come here?" he complained.

"Yep." He had to confront all of this; he couldn't just hide from it forever. American culture was _saturated_ in football. He needed to be able to see it and maybe even enjoy it without feeling like shit.

"You know, you could be out there," Kyle pointed out. "I bet you're better than all their receivers."

Michael shrugged. "Maybe." It didn't matter, though. He wasn't playing football without Kyle. He didn't want to.

"I'm never gonna play football again," Kyle mumbled sadly. "Now Tina's never gonna . . . be a kid again."

 _I don't think she's been a kid for a long time,_ Michael thought. That depressed the hell out of him.

"Do you think she'll graduate?" Kyle asked.

"I don't know." He wanted to hope for the best, but it was so damn hard.

"Maria didn't," Kyle pointed out.

Michael tensed. He lowered his head, trying not to think about yesterday. All day, he'd been trying to put it out of his mind, put _her_ out of his mind and just forget that he'd ever seen her, maybe even convince himself it hadn't been her at all. But all Kyle had to do was say her name, and it all came rushing back.

"Hey, so speaking of . . ." He trailed off, his lips poised on the _M_ sound. But he didn't say her name, because when he looked at Kyle, he saw that he was completely fixated on the team out there on the field. His body didn't move, but his mind was clearly racing. Flooding with memories, regrets, dreams that would never come true now.

"Kyle?"

Even then, it took Kyle a good three or four seconds to break out of his trance and return his attention to Michael. "Sorry," he said. "What were you sayin'?"

 _Shit, I can't talk to him about this,_ Michael thought. There had been a day when Kyle had been his closest confidante, when he could have told him anything. But things were different now. Kyle was no longer that person in his life who could listen to every single issue he had and tell him how to solve it. He had his own problems to deal with.

"Nothin'," Michael replied dismissively. "It's not important." It was, but . . . oh, well. He wasn't a kid anymore. He could figure things out himself.

...

It was raining. Hard. The kind of weather where you just wanted to stay inside, curl up in bed with your girlfriend, and sleep. Kiss a while. Sleep some more. Screw, maybe.

Michael was plenty tired, but he sure as hell wasn't curled up with Sarah. Even after his only class of the day was done, he stayed out, never venturing too far from the spot where he'd seen Maria yesterday. There was a bus stop on that sidewalk, so he sat there, sheltered from the rain while he watched people walk by.

He knew it was a long shot that she'd walk by again, but that didn't deter him from watching. _Intently._ Every time he saw a girl with blonde hair, he peered a little closer. But it was never her.

 _That's okay,_ he told himself. _That's good, actually._

He wasn't sure how long he sat there. Probably too long. But when he finally saw a bus slowly coming down the street, splashing the rain water collecting in the street all over the sidewalks, he got up, swung his backpack over his shoulders, and walked away. It was time to go home. Back to his apartment. The good life.

The rain continued into the evening and started to morph into a full-fledged storm. Sarah closed all the blinds and curtains because bad weather made her nervous. She cuddled with him on the couch and watched TV, her head on his shoulder, hands on his arm. Every time there was thunder, she scooted in a little closer.

"I hate storms," she grumbled.

"It's just rain," he reminded her.

"And lightning."

"So?"

"It's electricity shooting down from the sky. I don't like it."

He smiled, freeing his arm from her worried grasp so that he could wrap it around her shoulders and pull her against his side. "Nothing to be afraid of," he assured her, kissing her forehead.

"I know," she mumbled. "I just wish there was something good on TV to distract me from it."

Well, she was out of luck there. A hundred and fifty channels, and not one of them was showing anything remotely fucking decent.

"Or . . ." She tilted her head back to gaze up at him. "Maybe my boyfriend could distract me."

He was so out of it, he didn't even realize what she was suggesting at first. But it wasn't like she was being subtle or anything. "Oh. Sex?"

"Yeah. Or are you too tired?"

"I'm tired," he admitted. "I'm not _too_ tired."

"No?" She pushed herself up straighter and swung her leg over his lap, straddling him. She put her hands on his hips and swung her head to the side so all her hair spilled over one shoulder. "You've been awfully quiet tonight," she remarked, bending forward to kiss the side of his neck.

He threaded one hand through her hair, squeezing her backside with his free one. "I've been thinking."

"About what?" she asked, lips against his ear.

There was no way he could tell her he'd spent an hour today sitting at a bus stop, waiting for his ex-girlfriend to walk by. No _possible_ way. "It's nothing," he dismissed.

"No, I can tell your mind's just _racing_ ," she said, sitting back a bit, looping her arms over his shoulders. "You can't stop thinking about her, can you?"

He tensed momentarily. "What?" Was he that obvious? Or did she just know him that well? _Crap._

"Tina," she then clarified, much to his relief. "She's on your mind."

He breathed an internal sigh of relief. "Yeah." She was, in truth, and up until yesterday, she'd been about the only thing on his mind. But now . . .

"I know you're worried about her," she said. "I am, too."

"I'm really worried." For her, it was storms she didn't like. For him, it was . . . all this other shit, which, in its own metaphorical way, was quite stormy.

"Maybe I should . . . clear your mind," she proposed, moving her hips against his suggestively.

Outside, even with the blinds closed, he saw a flash of lightning, followed shortly thereafter by a roar of thunder. She shuddered, grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Maybe you should," he agreed, sliding his hands up her back to slip underneath her shirt and smooth over her spine. If there was one thing that could make him forget about everything else, surely it was being with her.

He lay on top of her, buried deep inside her that evening while the rain continued to pour outside. She held onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him as he rolled his hips forward at a steady pace. He kissed her and made love to her as insistently as he could, and even though his mind wasn't completely cleared, when he was with her like this, it wasn't so stormy anymore.

...

Even as the pleasure of sleep started to wear off come morning, Michael didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to. He just wanted to lie there with his girlfriend and waste time in bed all day, the way they had back in their early days as a couple. Those had been some of the most stress-free, relaxing days of his life.

...

 _Sarah's laugh was contagious. Whenever Michael heard it, it made him laugh, too. It didn't even matter if anything was funny or not. He just liked seeing that happy look on her face._

" _Okay, favorite ice cream flavor," she prompted, curling up against his side. They were once again crammed onto that tiny twin bed of hers. Thank God honors housing had private bedrooms, because his crappy dorm room had a crappy roommate to go along with it, and there was no way to get any privacy there._

" _Pistachio," he answered without hesitation._

 _She made a face of disgust. "Ew, why?"_

" _Why not? It's good."_

" _No, it's not," she argued. "Chocolate's better."_

" _Chocolate's boring," he claimed. "I'm not boring."_

" _Hey now, chocolate's_ my _favorite flavor."_

 _He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. "I can forgive you for that. You're not boring, either."_

" _Gee, thanks." She drummed her fingers atop his chest, rubbing her legs against his beneath the sheets leisurely._

" _Favorite movie?" he asked._

" _Oh, god. You're gonna think I'm such a girl," she cautioned._

" _I already know you're a girl," he assured her. "I've seen your girl parts."_

 _She cringed, then revealed, "_ The Notebook. _"_

" _Ugh." It was way too early on in the relationship to confess to her that that movie made him cry like a damn baby every time he saw it, so for now, he had to act like he hated it._

" _Not a fan?" she assumed._

" _No, I'm more of a_ Rambo _or_ Rocky _kind of guy. Pretty much anything with Sylvester Stallone in it."_

" _One of the great actors of our time," she quipped sarcastically._

" _He's pretty good." It really didn't matter if you couldn't understand half the words he was saying. The guy was intense enough to get the point across. Plus, the characters he portrayed could always kick some major ass._

" _You know, most people probably have these conversations_ before _they start sleeping together," she pointed out, tracing lazy circles on his chest now._

" _Well, we're not most people." Truth be told, there were dozens of girls in the chronicles of his sexual history whose names he couldn't even remember, so a conversation at any point in the relationship was an accomplishment._

" _Okay, I got another one," he announced, smirking. "Favorite sexual position."_

" _Uh, no fair!" she yelped, rolling over onto her back again. "I've only tried, like, five of them."_

" _Ah, we hit the major ones." Surely he'd given her enough experience this past week to choose one of them._

 _She sighed, pondering it. "Oh, I don't know. You're pretty good at all of 'em."_

" _I know." No need to be modest. He had skills._

" _I guess I kinda like it best when you're on top, though," she revealed. " 'cause then all I have to do is lay there."_

" _On top, huh? Like this?" Grinning, he pushed himself up onto his forearms and swung his leg over her, enveloping her smaller body with his._

" _Mmm, just like that," she purred, rubbing his sides. Already it seemed like it was just instinct for her to spread her legs wider so that he could settle in between them._

 _He just watched her for a moment, appreciating the way the corners of her mouth turned upward into a smile, the way her eyes gleamed, the way her hair fanned out behind her on the pillowcase. How had he gotten so lucky to meet this girl? She was amazing, and being with her . . . it was helping him. He hadn't felt so sad lately. It was as if nothing, not even his dad's death, could depress him right now, because she was just so excited about being with him._

 _Suddenly, her expression became serious, and she shocked the hell out of him when she blurted out, "I love you, Michael."_

 _His brain shut off for a moment. When it clicked back on again, all he could say was, "What?"_

" _I'm sorry," she apologized quickly. "I don't mean to freak you out. Maybe it's too soon to say it, but . . . I feel it." She smiled hopefully and repeated herself. "I love you."_

 _He stared down at her in amazement._ So brave, _he thought. She was so brave and so honest. It had been so long since anyone who wasn't a friend or family member had said that to him; he'd almost forgotten how good it felt to hear it._

" _I love you, too," he replied, surprising even himself when he managed to say the words. But how could he_ not _love her? Sure, he'd only known her for a few weeks, but he knew she was kind and smart and beautiful. And she wasn't going anywhere._

 _He cupped her cheek and kissed her deeply to further express the truth of his words. She giggled again, but this time, the giddy sound was stifled by his mouth. But even though he couldn't hear it this time, he felt it. He felt it in every touch, every breath she took. He felt how happy she was when she was with him. Here was this incredible girl . . . and he made her happy._

 _She made him happy, too._

...

Michael forced his eyes open, because he knew he had to get up. He had class at 9:15. Social Psychology with Professor Barnaby. His favorite.

It wasn't hard to motivate himself to go to that class; it _was_ hard, however, to motivate himself to leave that bed. Sarah was curled up beside him, sleeping a little later than she usually did, even though it was her day off. Her body was warm and the blankets were warm, and he didn't want to move.

But he did. He got up, showered, ate a quick bacon, egg, and cheese Hot Pocket for breakfast, and kissed his girlfriend's cheek before he left for class.

"I love you," he whispered, eliciting a content murmur from her. It had been almost two years now, and that feeling hadn't changed. It hadn't changed at all.

Outside, the ground was still wet, and the storm from last night hadn't quite passed yet. The sky was still cloudy, and it was lightly misting. Michael took his sweet time on his trek, paying more attention than usual to everyone who passed him by. Nobody stood out.

Monk was coming out of the engineering building, looking frazzled when Michael passed by. Or as frazzled as Monk could possibly look. The guy had zero facial expressions.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked him.

"I think I flunked my research assignment," Monk relayed in his usual even tone. "I finished it at last minute last night because I was up until 3:00 chatting online."

"Oh, no." Michael cringed. "Big Cedar again?"

"No, Big Cedar's cousin. Little Redwood."

"Little Redwood." Michael nodded skeptically. "Is she actually a girl this time?"

Monk shrugged flippantly. "Who the hell knows? I'll take my chances. Actually, she was really . . ."

Michael tried to listen to his friend, but his attention totally diverted when he looked across the street. He caught sight of her instantly. _Her._

There she was again, Maria DeLuca. She was even closer this time, but just like last time, she was completely oblivious to him. She was talking on her cell phone this time. She had sunglasses on again. Her hair was blowing all around her in the breeze.

 _Holy shit,_ he thought, immediately fixated on her. How was this happening again? How was it that he just happened to be walking across campus at the exact same time as her? Why was she on campus anyway? Where was she going?

"Anyway," Monk was saying, "if she's a dude, I might just try it once and see if I like it."

"Yeah, that's great," Michael said, not really paying attention. "Hey, listen, man, I gotta go."

"Alright. See ya later."

Michael stepped down off the sidewalk, making sure to look both ways this time before darting across the street. He stayed a good distance behind Maria, not far enough to let her out of his sight, but far enough that she wouldn't notice him following her.

God, he was _following_ her? Great, now he was a stalker.

She definitely wasn't just out for a leisurely stroll. She actually seemed like she was in a hurry, and it was even hard for him to keep up with her. He lost her for a few seconds in a crowd of people near one of the parking lots, but he spotted her again, heading back towards the buildings he never ventured into because it was for all the fine arts crap. He almost lost sight of her for a moment, but then he spotted that wave of blonde hair gliding into Lecuona Hall. He ran towards the building and hurried up the front steps, not willing to lose track of her now. He got inside just in time to see her walking up some steps at the end of a long hallway. He hustled forward and went up after her.

At the top of the stairs, there were two different lecture halls on either side. He chanced it with the lecture hall on the right and headed on in, making sure to keep his head down and walk behind a few other people so he wouldn't be seen. As it turned out, that wouldn't be a problem. It was a big lecture hall, bigger than the one he sat in for Social Psychology. There was a balcony at the top with a staircase that wound down to theater style seats.

Michael carefully glanced over the all the students who were finding their seats as he found his way to his own. He was starting to think she'd gone into the other lecture hall when he saw her up at the front, putting her cell phone back in her purse as she sat down. He quickly plopped down in the back row, purposefully sitting behind a really big guy. Big in terms of height and width. Sort of like Bubba from high school, only he was actually managing to keep his eyes open for class.

 _What the fucking hell am I doing here?_ he wondered, slouching down in his seat to be as hidden as possible. This wasn't right. It wasn't normal. Two years ago, it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but now it was, because he'd gotten used to being right and being normal and he didn't want to screw it up.

But still . . . he couldn't force himself to leave that lecture hall.

By the time the professor strolled in, it was too late. He would have drawn more attention to himself if he tried to leave. So he just sat there, sneaking a peek at Maria here and there, while the professor told them all about a concert he had attended last night, then proceeded to play some orchestral piano piece off his iPhone and a small speaker. "Sit back and listen," the professor said, closing his eyes. "Enjoy. Appreciate." He motioned for his TA to turn down the lights, and that was exactly what happened. It got dark in the lecture hall, and there was just the music, and about a hundred students scattered around the room, some of them yawning, others closing their eyes and swaying back and forth to the music just like this hippie of a professor was.

Completely unused to this kind of class, Michael leaned forward and tapped the big guy in front of him on the shoulder. "Hey," he whispered. "What class is this?"

The big guy gave him a confused look, like he couldn't understand how a guy could be sitting in a class and have no idea what class it was. Made sense. "Music Appreciation," he replied quietly.

"Right." Of course Maria would be taking this kind of class. Of course.

Michael sat back in his chair and smiled, appreciating the music, as sappy and lethargic as it was. He didn't close his eyes, but when he peered around the sequoia tree of a man in front of him, he noticed that Maria DeLuca's eyes were shut, and she was soaking it all in.

He didn't even notice when the song stopped playing.

...

Luckily Michael had already made a good impression on his cooperating counselor, because his second impression wasn't going to be so good. He showed up to Pound Elementary around lunchtime, half an hour later than he was scheduled to be there. Music Appreciation class had gone a little long, longer than his Social Psychology class normally lasted. And he'd had to stop by Professor Barnaby's office after to see if there was anything he'd missed that day.

"Hi, Ms. Whitaker," he greeted as he slipped into her office. Remembering that she preferred he call her by her first name like any other colleague, he corrected himself. "Vanessa. Sorry."

She was sorting through her filing cabinet, and she barely glanced up to look at him. When she did, she didn't look happy. "You're late."

"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "Sorry about that. My class ran a little late, and there was traffic . . ." He knew it sounded like he was making excuses—which he was—so he just stopped and apologized again. "I'm sorry."

She shut her cabinet and dropped a few file folders onto her desk. "I expect more, Michael," she informed him sternly. "I'm going out on a limb with you here, based on Brody's recommendation and the fact that you seem like a really nice, driven young man."

He chuckled inwardly. Nice and driven. Two words that hadn't ever applied to him until he'd started college.

"But it was never in my plan to sponsor a practicum student this semester," she informed him. "It's a lot of work for both of us. Now if you're willing to put in that work . . ."

"I am," he promised. "It won't happen again, I promise."

"Good," she said, "because I run a tight ship. I take my job seriously, and I don't have time for excuses. Understood?"

He nodded, feeling a bit intimidated by this woman. But . . . it was a respect thing, too. He had respect for her, because she was clearly good at her job. He wanted to learn from the best.

"Okay," she said, letting it go. "Do you want to see what we've got on the agenda for the afternoon?"

"Yeah, sure."

She picked up her planner and showed him the long list of events and to-do tasks she had jotted down there. "After lunch, we've got a webinar with other counselors in the district. Then at 1:00 we're gonna try to pull Rudy Moretz out of his art class to have a little hygiene talk. At 1:30 we have an IEP meeting. Are you familiar with what an IEP is?"

"Individualized Education Program," he recited. "It's what kids who qualify for special education services have."

"Very good," she said. "So we'll have one of those. I'll just have you sit in on that. Of course everything that's said there is confidential. And then at 2:30, we're meeting with the middle school counselor to discuss changing the homeroom curriculum. That should get done by 3:00, so then whatever small amount of time we have leftover, we need to start working on the Circle of Friends."

He made a face. "Circle of Friends?"

"For some of our students with autism or other severe disabilities," she explained. "We enlist a group of students to be their 'circle of friends,' and those students help them out with things. We have to find students who are kindhearted, compassionate, good leaders. And being smart never hurts."

"Huh. Sounds cool." Sounded like something he never would have been invited to be a part of, but still . . . cool for the kids who needed help interacting.

"So it's a busy day," she summarized, closing her planner. "Are you up for it?"

"Yeah, I am." He'd be exhausted by the time he got home, especially since he had to work tonight, too. But it was all good.

"Alright, let's go get some lunch then," she suggested. "We've got a whole whopping ten minutes to eat it."

"Great." He followed her out of her office, hoping he would get to know other staff members while he was here so he didn't just have to follow her around like a little lap dog. But for now, she was the only person in this school he knew.

Or maybe not.

He stopped at the entrance to the main office when he saw two little boys running over from the cafeteria. One of them looked like he was about to throw up. The other, the blonde one, was helping him get to the office in time.

The blonde one . . .

 _No way._

He knew that boy.

"Oh, okay, go back to the nurse," Vanessa said, stepping aside.

"Dylan," Michael whispered. He was taller now, maybe three and a half feet. His hair was a little darker shade of blonde. He was wearing a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt. It was _him_. He'd never forget that face.

Dylan let go of his friend and let him fend for himself when he saw Michael. His entire face lit up with excitement, and he exclaimed, "Daddy!" He immediately swooped in and wrapped his arms around Michael's legs, hugging him.

 _Oh my god,_ he thought, too stunned to hug him back or say anything. Was this really happening? Two years . . . it had been two _years_ —more than that, even—and Dylan still remembered him. Instantly. He actually felt tears sting his eyes.

"Oops," Dylan said, pulling away unsurely. "I mean . . . Micho!"

Michael just looked down at the little boy in astonishment. He'd never thought he would hear his name pronounced that way ever again. For a long time, he'd hoped beyond hope for it.

Vanessa looked at the two of them, confused, and then spoke to Dylan. "It was nice of you to help your friend to the office," she said, "but the nurse will take care of him now. You go back to lunch, okay?"

 _No, don't go,_ Michael wanted to say. But his mouth felt dry.

"Go back to lunch," Vanessa urged again.

Dylan frowned, his shoulders slumping. "Okay," he said. "Bye, Micho!" He waved and scampered off, nearly tripping over his own feet on his way back to a lunch table swarming with all sorts of other boys his age, boys who were too busy comparing the covers of their lunch boxes to eat the actual food inside.

 _Dylan . . ._ He felt a knot in his stomach as he tried to tear his eyes away. It didn't matter how much time had passed. He looked at that kid, and all the memories came rushing back. All the fatherly feelings, too, the instinct to feel that that wasn't just any little boy out there, but that it was _his_ little boy.

"Do you know Dylan?" Vanessa asked him.

Oh, if she had any idea what she was asking, she never would have asked it. Still . . . it was his first real day there, and he'd already made one mistake by being late. He wasn't about to unload his unconventional past on her right then and there. "No," he lied. It would be easier if he was just a counselor and Dylan was just a student. Nothing more.

Even as he was thinking it, though, he knew it wasn't possible. He felt like his past and his present were colliding, and he had no idea how to stop it. Or if he even wanted to.


	10. Chapter 10

Isabel felt her eyes water the moment she entered her kitchen. Jesse was making himself an omelet, and of course it had a kick to it. "Wow," she said. "That is quite a smell."

"Yeah, I need to shower," he mumbled.

"No. Your food." She sauntered towards him, squinting her eyes as she neared the stove. "Jesus, how many jalapenos did you put in there?"

"Not jalapaneos," he corrected. "Habaneros. Spicier."

"Oh, good, 'cause your food's not nearly spicy enough." She laughed, shaking her head. "What's next, ghost pepper omelets?"

"Actually," he said, turning off the burner, "there's this thing called the Carolina Reaper. Spiciest pepper in the world. Makes your throat burn for, like, ten minutes."

"Sounds appetizing," she remarked sarcastically. Maybe his Latin blood made him have a higher tolerance for food that tasted like death, but she just couldn't even eat half the things he cooked.

"I'm gonna try it sometime," he vowed, lifting his omelet out of the frying pan and onto his plate. "I like my food like I like my women, you know: hot."

"Hmm." Surely her own hotness was at a habanero level. Maybe not this Carolina Reaper level, though, because there were still some things she refused to do.

"So how was your day?" he asked, setting his plate aside so it could cool for a moment.

"Good," she replied. "I got my slam poetry piece back."

He grinned. " _Slam_ poetry."

"I got a really good grade." It was nice to know that she was still capable of writing something impressive.

"Can I see it?" he asked.

While she was glad that he was taking an interest, she wasn't sure this particular poem was the best one for him to read. "Sure," she said, hesitantly handing it over to him. Hopefully it wouldn't make him mad.

He leaned against the counter, frowning as he read the words. She couldn't tell whether he was upset or confused. It really wasn't about him, specifically; just men in general.

When he got to the end of it, he look right at her and admitted, "I don't get it."

Now it was her turn to frown. "What?" How could he not get it? Everyone else did. It wasn't that complex, so maybe he just wasn't trying to understand.

"It's good, though." He set her poem down on the counter and circled his arms around her waist, pulling her body into his, kissing her deeply. His whole mouth tasted spicy, like he'd sampled some of the peppers before putting them into his breakfast.

She tilted her head to the side so he could kiss her neck, ignoring the way her eyes were watering again.

...

Alex was only halfway through the reading assignment for his educational psychology class when Leanna came out of the bedroom, saw what he was doing, and groaned. "Great, when you're not grading, you're reading," she complained.

He tried to take it all in stride and didn't get up from the couch. "I'm still a student, you know," he pointed out. "I do have my own classes to take."

She sat down on the back of the couch, giving him quite the view of her backside. She had on Patriots panties and a Tom Brady jersey. "I know you have your own classes," she grumbled. "You have your own students, your own job, your own friends. Your own everything. You even have your own wife."

Sensing that she needed some attention, he set his book aside on the coffee table, not even bothering to bookmark the page. "I _do_ have my own wife," he said, grabbing her hand. "Come here."

Somehow, she managed to fall gracefully over the back of the couch and settle softly on top of him. God, she was so athletic. Sometimes when he was touching her, he felt like he should go work out just so he was physically worthy of touching her.

He put his hands on her hips and started to rub her body, but she didn't look into it. In fact, she seemed to have a permanent unhappy expression tattooed onto her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked. This bad mood she'd been in lately was . . . annoying, really, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He'd try to be as sympathetic and understanding as he could be. That was what a husband was supposed to do.

"It just really concerns me that we've only been married for three and a half months, and already we're going through a rough patch," she revealed.

He made a face, not on the same wavelength. "I wouldn't call it a rough patch."

"Then what would you call it?"

"Just . . ." _You being over-dramatic,_ he thought. _A total girl._ He had to phrase it differently, though, or it would only piss her off more. "Okay, look, the way I see it . . . we dated a year, and then we got married, and-"

"You think we're still getting to know each other?"

"No, I think—I think we were really used to having a lot of time to spend together. But we both knew this year was gonna be hectic. Between your job and mine . . ."

"I'm not that busy with my job," she pointed out. "It's you, Alex. You're the one who doesn't have time for me."

"I do," he insisted, "but I have to make time for other things, too. There's only twenty-four hours in a day."

"Yeah, but it would be nice if more than one of them could be devoted to me."

He sighed in frustration, not sure what he could do to make her happy. He was trying to cut back on all the time he spent on campus as much as he could, and he'd even set aside a whole weekend to spend with her. If Liz called and asked him to babysit, he was prepared to tell her he couldn't, even though he loved spending time with Scarlet. He was really trying, and it just didn't seem like enough for her.

"I just don't get why I'm your _last_ priority," she complained.

"You're not," he insisted, but he couldn't force her to believe that. She was going to have to accept that all on her own. "Look, I'm here now. With you. Just you and me." He smoothed her shiny blonde hair back over her shoulder and stroked her cheek. "Okay?" He tried to sit up a little to kiss her lips, but she turned her head to the side at last minute, and he got her cheek instead. As usual these days.

 _Oh, well,_ he thought. _Better than nothing._ He'd lie there with her and hold her for a while. After she fell asleep, he'd pick up his book and start reading again, and hopefully one day soon, she'd go back to being the girl he'd married. That would be nice.

...

There wasn't much to do at the front desk of Vidorra that night, so Michael happily lost track of time talking to his boss instead of actually getting any work done. Brody seemed interested in how Michael's first day of his practicum had gone, and he got a kick out of it when he revealed he'd shown up late.

"She's intimidating. I was intimidated," he admitted openly, "and I'm not intimidated by anybody."

Brody chuckled. "She definitely takes her job seriously. And punctuality . . . she's a stickler about that."

"I can tell."

"I was late for our first date," Brody revealed. "Almost didn't get a second one."

"Huh." Something told Michael Vanessa was the one who wore the pants in her and Brody's relationship. And there was nothing wrong with that. A take-charge chick could be pretty hot sometimes.

"Anyway, don't let her intimidate you. You'll learn a lot from her," Brody promised.

"Oh, yeah, I will."

"She's great at her job. But she's got high expectations."

Michael leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head lazily. "Then I guess I'll just have to rise up to meet 'em."

"You sure will," Brody agreed, letting out a yawn. "Alright, well, I'm beat. Think I'm gonna turn in for the night. You good out here?"

"Yeah, swamped with work," Michael joked sarcastically, "but . . . I'll manage."

Brody smiled appreciatively. "Thanks for filling in for Monk tonight. He said something about a date with . . . Little Redwood?" He made a face. "Is that a girl?"

Michael shrugged. "Possibly."

"Sounds like a porn star."

Again, Michael shrugged. "Possibly." He had met her online, after all.

"Well . . ." Brody waved it off, walking around to the other side of the front desk, sneaking a piece of chocolate out of the candy dish on his way to his apartment. "How's the dog, by the way?" he asked as he peeled off the wrapper. "You know, the one I'm completely clueless to you having."

"Oh, he's . . . the best," Michael gushed, always up for bragging about his dog. "The toilet training's a work in progress, but if anyone can do it, it's my Shango."

"Shango," Brody echoed. "That's his name?"

"Yeah."

"What's it mean?"

Michael wasn't about to own up to his ignorance of where in the world the city of Shanghai was, so he lied instead. "Just . . . perfection."

"Does it really?"

"No, but it might as well, because that's what that dog is."

Brody shook his head, laughing. "Goodnight," he said, slipping into his apartment.

"Night," Michael returned right before the door shut. He sighed and kicked his feet up on the desk, linking his hands together behind his head. He closed his eyes, hoping he might be able to nod off for at least twenty minutes of this shift, but then his phone rang.

He groaned, setting his feet down, and leaned forward to pick it up off the desk. His mom was calling. Pretty late for her. She usually went to bed shortly after 9:00. "Hey," he answered.

"Oh, Michael . . ." She sounded upset. All it took was two words for him to gather that much. "I'm sorry to call. I just . . . I needed to hear your voice."

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, you know . . . your pregnant thirteen year-old sister." She tried to laugh, but it sounded more agonized than amused. "I had a really long talk with her tonight, trying to convince her to give this baby up for adoption. But she just acted like she doesn't wanna hear it."

"Well, she doesn't," Michael stated simply. "At least not right now. Maybe a couple months down the line when she's big as a beach ball and can't wear any of her clothes anymore and her back's killing her . . . maybe then she'll change her mind."

"It might be too late in a couple months," his mother fretted. "I worry that the longer she envisions herself raising this baby, the more likely it is to happen."

"Yeah." He worried the same thing. But neither he nor his mom could get inside her head and make her think things though, be logical. Besides . . . lately he hadn't been the most logical person, what with getting hit by a car and attending a Music Appreciation class he wasn't even enrolled in.

"Hey, Mom?" He really wanted to tell her about seeing Maria and Dylan again. He needed her advice.

Unfortunately, though, his mom had plenty of other shit to think about. "I just . . . I don't want her to be a mom. Not yet. But I feel like she's thinking of herself that way."

Michael sighed, pushing Maria and Dylan out of his mind. As much as he could, at least. "Yeah, it's not a great situation," he agreed. "Because I think when you form that kind of attachment with a kid . . ." He pressed his lips together tightly, trying not to think about his own attachment, trying not to feel it the way he had at the elementary school today. "I don't think it really ever goes away."

His mother waited a moment, then quietly asked, "Speaking from experience?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat as memories filled his mind. Playing football with Dylan in the backyard. Tucking him into bed at night in that Guerin jersey he'd loved. And then today.

Hell yeah, he was speaking from experience. "Maybe," he replied vaguely. Given how stressed out his mom already was, there was no need to go into more detail than that.

...

Water sloshed over Maria's hands while she did the dishes that night. It didn't matter how hard she pressed the scrub brush to the problem plate—there was just something stuck on there that had become permanent. Apparently she'd let the dishes sit in the sink a day or two too long. Would have been nice to have a dishwasher.

She set it down in the water, giving up on it like a doctor calling the time on a patient's death. She'd been doing dishes so long that her knuckles were starting to feel all dry and scratchy.

"Hey, Mom?"

She turned around when she heard her son's voice. He stood by the refrigerator in his blue Buzz Lightyear pajamas. His hair was all messed up, like he'd been rolling around in bed. Either that or jumping up and down on it wildly. With Dylan, it could have been either one.

"What are you doing up? You're supposed to be asleep," she reminded him. Dylan's bedtime was supposed to be 8:30, but so far this school year, he'd already managed to push it back to 9:00. 9:30 was pushing it too far.

"I know," he said, shuffling forward. "But I gotta say 'night."

She looked down into those adorable blue-green eyes and couldn't find it in herself to be mad at him. "Oh, goodnight, honey," she cooed, bending down to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Go back to bed, alright?"

"Hey, Mom?" he said again.

She sighed impatiently, already sensing that this could be one of _those_ nights where he tried to talk her ear off just to avoid going to sleep. "What?"

"Guess who I saw at school today."

She wracked her brain, trying to remember the names of some of the other kindergarten boys. Dylan had made a lot of new friends this year, but they all sort of looked the same and acted the same, so they blended together in her mind. "Tommy, Joey . . . Bobby?" Was there a Bobby? She wasn't sure.

"Nope." He twisted from side to side, grinning excitedly. "Daddy."

She wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "What?" Was he mixing up his words again? Sometimes he talked so much that his sentences started to spill out all over each other and he ended up not making sense.

"Yep!" he exclaimed.

"You saw Daddy at school today," she recapped skeptically. "No, sweetie, trust me, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did," he insisted.

She put her hands on her hips, trying to understand what he was attempting to say. "Dylan, what are you talking about?" Was it someone else's dad? Bobby's dad? There had to be a Bobby at school, and he had to have a dad.

Dylan frowned, looking down at his feet and mumbling, "Never mind," as he padded out of the kitchen and headed back down the hall to his bedroom.

Maria shook her head, utterly puzzled, and turned back around to face the sink. Sighing, she picked up the plate and continued scrubbing at it again with determination, splashing water all over her shirt in the process.

...

Tess had had a bad feeling about the letter from the insurance company before she even opened it. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Insurance companies didn't send letters unless something was wrong.

And it _was_ wrong. Very, _very_ wrong.

"According to our records," she read, "your insurance coverage . . ." She trailed off as the bad news sank in. It was expiring. All of it, by the end of the month. Insurance wasn't going to pay for any of Kyle's physical therapy anymore, because he wasn't showing improvement. They were deeming it an 'unnecessary expense.'

Grunting in disbelief, she stuffed the ridiculous letter back in the envelope and marched inside the house. It pissed her off to see Kyle sitting on the couch like usual, watching Sports Center instead of exercising. She threw the letter down on his lap and yelled, "This is all your fault!"

He picked it up slowly and just stared at it, as if he didn't know what it was.

"That's a letter from the insurance company letting us know your coverage is expiring," she explained with a bite in her voice. "You know why? Because you're not getting better. They'd keep paying for it if you were improving, but since your doctors say you're not improving, they're not gonna shell out any cash for you anymore."

He stared to take the letter out of the envelope, then stopped halfway. "So what does that mean?"

She flapped her hands against her sides, huffing, "That _means_ we don't have any way to pay for your physical therapy, so you can't keep going to Chancellor anymore. And we don't have enough money to hire someone, and you're not getting better and . . ." She trailed off, breaking into tears. "Kyle . . ." she whimpered, "you can't just stay like this."

He looked away from her, shame in his eyes, and the envelope dropped from his lap. He didn't even bother to pick it up. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

She shook her head angrily. "Don't be sorry; be Kyle!" she shouted. "God, just . . . just do something, Kyle! Quit sitting here!" She slumped forward, holding her hands over her face, and cried openly. Normally, she tried to hold it together for Kyle, tried not to get too emotional in front of him. But this was just too much today. As if it weren't bad enough having a fiancée who could barely walk, now she had to worry about not having the money to help him walk again? She could probably ask her parents for a loan again, and his dad will surely pitch in what he could, but physical therapy was _so_ damn expensive. Their money would only cover a couple of months.

It wasn't fair. What other twenty year old girl had to deal with this?

...

Michael actually sort of felt bad for barging into his academic advisor's office unannounced that day. Apparently some kid named Luis had scheduled an appointment, but Michael didn't care. He paid Luis ten bucks to let him go in ahead of him without complaint, and that was that.

His advisor, Julia, was a nice enough lady—a little too old to be considered a MILF, but she'd probably been one back in the day. Nowadays she was just a woman in her fifties who did a poor job of dying her hair blonde to conceal the grey, but she was decent to him. The woman had put him on the track to academic success semester after semester by telling him exactly which classes to take and when to take them. He always listened to her advice.

Which probably explained the confused look on her face when he came to her with the crazy idea of adding Music Appreciation to his schedule five weeks into the semester. She just kept looking at his schedule and the course catalog over and over again, frowning in bewilderment, not saying anything.

"So what do you think?" he finally asked.

"Well . . ." She put his schedule down and stared at him for a moment, as if she were trying to figure him out. "I have to be honest, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me," she admitted. "I don't know why you would be so adamant about taking a class that won't benefit you in any way."

"It just sounds fun," he said flippantly. But hell, who was he kidding? No undergraduate took a college class just because it sounded fun.

"But it's a fine arts credit," Julia explained, "and you got your fine arts out of the way freshman year when you took Theater 101."

 _And a hell of a waste of time that was,_ he thought but didn't say. His professor had been an uninteresting dick. "There's got be some other credit I need that it'll count towards," he insisted.

"There isn't." She shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. Taking this class would quite simply be a waste of your time."

It wouldn't, though. How could he get her to understand that?

"I can't honestly advise you to spend money on a course that won't even count towards your degree," she told him. "And because we're already a month into the semester, you'd have to pay a late registration fee. Not to mention the fact that it conflicts with your Social Psychology class."

"Yeah, I already looked into it," he told her. "Professor Barnaby teaches another section of the class at 12:30. He's got twenty open seats. I could just switch to that one."

"And what about your practicum?"

"I . . ." He trailed off, getting momentarily frazzled. "I can make it work," he promised. Sure, he'd be running from place to place like a chicken with its head cut off, but if he reworked his class schedule, he could still clock in some practicum hours around it. "Look, I'm only taking four classes right now. I can do a fifth."

"I know you can, but I don't understand why _this_ class has such appeal for you."

He sighed, unable to explain it to her, unwilling to admit it to himself. "I just wanna take the class," he reiterated. "I appreciate music."

Julia laughed lightly. "Okay, so then go learn to play the guitar or buy a CD or something."

"A CD." He gave her a looking, knowing even she had to have some clue how outdated those things were.

"Or iTunes or whatever you kids use nowadays."

"That's not the same as taking the class," he persisted. "I wanna take Music Appreciation. I don't care if it doesn't count towards any credits, or if it'll cost me more, or if I gotta rework my schedule to fit it in. Please. Help me get in there."

She looked him over for a moment, then sighed and shook her head. "Well, I suppose there's nothing I can do to stop you," she said, quickly typing in something on her laptop. A few seconds later, she said, "I've got the class roster right here. Plenty of open seats."

"Yeah, I know." He'd gathered that much from sitting in the auditorium yesterday. There had been plenty of room to stretch out. His backpack had even gotten a seat of its own.

"So if you wanna enroll and switch your Social Psychology class around, go right ahead."

His leg started to move with excitement. "Great. Thanks."

"But keep in mind, this is another class you're committing yourself to three times a week."

"Yeah, it's . . ." His sentence died off abruptly, and he paused for a moment, thinking he hadn't heard her right. "Wait, three times?"

"Yes."

He frowned, letting that tidbit wriggle its way around his brain. "You mean it's not just a Tuesday/Thursday class?"

"No, it's Tuesday/Thursday/Friday," she informed him. "As in today."

"What?" He glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. "So wait, it's going on right now?"

"Finishing up, yes."

 _Oh, shit,_ he thought. What a missed opportunity. He should have been there.

"Thank you for your time," he said quickly, shooting from his seat. He raced out of the office, past Luis, who must have had the munchies because he was _eating_ his new ten dollar bill, and out of the advising center. He ran outside, thankful that he didn't have his backpack today, because that would have slowed him down. He got to the crosswalk just in time, darting across to the other side of the street just as the light switched. A few people he knew said hi to him as he ran towards Lecuona Hall, but he ignored them.

 _What are you doing?_ he wondered to himself. _Why are you doing this?_

When he was only a block away, he saw Fly, who was in the midst of chatting up some impressionable freshmen. He would have ran right past, but Fly spotted him and called, "Yo, Mike, guess what! I'm gonna be the full-time mascot now, man!"

"I can't talk right now, Fly!" he hollered back. "I'm late for class!"

Unfortunately . . . it was too late. By the time he got to the lecture hall, it was completely empty, except for the professor himself, who was sitting behind the computer, eyes closed, singing softly to a song Michael didn't even recognize.

"Dammit," he swore, immediately backtracking.

He rushed back out of the building and zoomed past Fly again. He caught sight of a couple people from the class he recognized, including the big guy he'd sat behind yesterday. That had to mean they'd just gotten out then, right? So maybe she was still around there somewhere. Maybe he could see her again.

 _And do what?_ he wondered. Did he even have a plan here? How long was he going to just hang back and watch her from afar? She'd notice him eventually.

He ran past the big guy and eventually ended up at the main intersection of campus again, right outside the advising center where he'd first started this little run, right where he'd gotten hit by a car four days ago.

 _This is ridiculous_ , he thought, stopping at the edge of the sidewalk. And he would have given up and not done anything had he not spotted her, once again as if by fate. She had just crossed the street and was on the other side of the sidewalk, walking away.

 _Don't go,_ he thought, and then on instinct, he yelled, "Maria!"

She whirled around, her eyes landing on him instantly. She froze, staring at him with wide, astonished eyes, as though he were the last person she expected to see. He stared back, unable to say anything else. His throat felt dry, and his heart was pounding. It had been over two years—two _years_ —since he'd looked her in the eye.

Green eyes. Full lips. And a stunned expression on her face.

Cars drove in between them. People walked in front of them, but somehow, they always seemed to get out of the way, and they could see each other again. He expected her to say something, maybe even smile. At the very least, he expected her to wait until the traffic came to a stop again, and then he could go across and talk to her. But something in him sank when, without one word, she turned her back to him and kept walking. As though he were a stranger. No one. Not the former love of her life.

He watched her go helplessly, just as he had years ago. But even though he could go after this time, even though he could catch up with her if he wanted to . . . he didn't. Because it was pretty obvious she wanted nothing to do with him.

Sitting down on the sidewalk, he let the other people on that campus swirl around him, but he didn't pay attention to any of them.

...

Still shaken, Maria managed to get in her car—a crappy Buick Century from the late nineties that somehow managed to still run—and drive to Dylan's school. She was distracted the whole time and basically just drove on autopilot. It seemed like one second she was in an overcrowded parking lot on campus, and the next second, she was pulling up outside the front of Pound Elementary as the last bell of the day was ringing and kids started to scamper out. Her mind was consumed for the entire drive, consumed by . . .

 _Michael._

She shut the car off and leaned her elbows against the steering wheel, raking her hands through her hair. What exactly had happened back there? How had they just managed to run into each other like that? What was he even doing there?

She supposed he was wondering the same thing about her. In all actuality, it made more sense for him to be on a college campus than for her to be. But still . . . never in her wildest dreams did she expect to run into him again. There had been such a finality to the last time they'd seen each other.

 _Oh god._ Her stomach was already in knots about it. For over two years, she had tried so hard to get Michael off her mind, to not think about him, to not miss him. And she had gotten to the point where, most days, she was successful at that. Most days. But not today. Maybe not for a lot of days to come now.

 _Crap._

She saw Dylan come out the front doors with his little Toy Story backpack bouncing on his shoulders, and she knew that she had to conceal how she was feeling. If he saw her like this, all frazzled and worked up, he'd get worked up, too, and she didn't want him to know that anything was wrong.

 _Was_ anything wrong, though? Or was it just . . . weird?

"Hey, Mom," he chirped when he opened the door and climbed into the backseat.

"Hey, sweetie," she returned, putting on her best happy, unbothered face. "How was your day?"

"Good." He shut the door and obediently scooted over to the seat on the far left, where his booster seat was located right behind hers

"Did you do your show-and-tell?" she asked.

"Yep."

"Did it go well?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He'd brought a picture of the two of them at Texans Stadium, taken last year at one of the only football games she'd ever managed to get him to. It had easily been one of his happiest days.

"Alright, get your seatbelt on," she told him, watching him in the rearview mirror.

He groaned, whining, "Do I have to?"

"Yes, it's for your own safety."

Pouting, he reluctantly did as he was instructed, pulling the seatbelt across his lap to latch it into place. "There," he proclaimed.

"Good job." She poised her hand on the key, ready to twist the ignition into the on position again, when something stopped her. She thought about last night, about the unusual thing Dylan had said to her while she'd been doing dishes. The thing about who he'd seen yesterday.

Now that she'd seen Michael . . . she wondered what exactly he meant.

"Hey, Dylan?" she said softly, twisting around in her seat so she could look at him directly. "Who did you see at school yesterday?"

He looked down at his lap, almost as if he were embarrassed to talk about it now. "Never mind," he mumbled.

"It's okay, you can tell me," she assured him, needing to know. "Who did you see?" She hadn't thought much about it at the time; she'd just dismissed it as him saying random things, confusing his words. But maybe it was more than that.

He hesitated for a few seconds, then looked at her sheepishly and replied, "Micho."

Those knots, the ones that had already started forming in her stomach . . . they knotted up even tighter. Still, she tried to keep her facial expression calm and collected, even though, on in the inside, she was anything but.

...

Even though Tess was far too emotional to calm down, she appreciated Sarah's efforts to get her to do just that. She made some special tea that was supposed to have a relaxing effect and set it down in front of Tess, urging, "Drink this. You'll feel better."

"Thanks," Tess said, though she doubted it. The morning had started out horribly from the moment she opened the mail, and the day had only proceeded to get worse at cheer practice. Kristin and Stephanie had been in rare form, extending their bullying not only to her, but also to the girls themselves. She was so fed up with it that she was about to quit. Except she couldn't do that, because then she'd have no income if she did. And money was already a big enough issue as it was.

"I know the situation looks bleak right now," Sarah empathized, sitting down beside her at the table, "but trust me, it's not as bad as it seems."

"It's not?" Tess gave her friend a skeptical look. "I have a fiancé who won't get up off the couch, bills that are _way_ past due, a job I hate . . ."

"But you also have friends to rely on," Sarah pointed out. "Reliable friends. Now I may not be able to do anything about the job, but I can help out with the other stuff."

"I don't wanna take your money," Tess insisted. They'd had this conversation before, and although she was grateful for the offer, she just couldn't accept any cash from Sarah and Michael. It wouldn't feel right.

"Then take my help," Sarah encouraged. "If you can't afford to get Kyle his physical therapy anymore, then I'll work with him. Free of charge."

For a second, Tess felt the slightest bit hopeful that at least maybe that problem could be solved. "You'd really do that?" she asked, just to make sure.

"Of course. You're my best friend, and Kyle is Michael's best friend, so there's nothing I wouldn't do to help."

Tess breathed a sigh of relief, not about to turn down the offer. "I don't know what to say," she admitted. "Are you sure, though? It's a big commitment."

Sarah shrugged. "Michael can help. Between my knowledge of physical therapy and his knowledge of Kyle, I'm sure we can get him to make some progress in no time."

"Well . . ." Tess didn't want to discourage her, but that was probably way too optimistic. They were supposed to have seen a lot of progress already, and so far, not much had been made. Hence the insurance getting cut off. Hence the overall crapiness of the entire situation.

"We can make this work," Sarah assured her. "Just try to stay positive."

She sighed shakily, raising the cup of tea to her mouth to take a sip. That was part of the problem, though, wasn't it? She used to be a positive person, used to manage to see a silver lining and a bright side to everything. But then Kyle's life had changed forever, and her whole life had changed right along with it. And now, even with the help of friends, it was hard to feel positive about anything anymore.

...

Michael spent his afternoon at Haymsworth Hall with Monk, hearing all the lurid details of his date with Little Redwood. As it turned out, she was actually a girl, which was good. The bad news was that she was forty, but Monk didn't seem deterred. He said the date had gone well, and they'd made plans for a second one.

Listening to his friend talk about his wacky love life was a nice distraction, but the second their shift got over and Michael headed outside to make the short trek home, he started to get nervous again. His day hadn't been typical by any means, and Sarah would probably ask him about it. What the hell was he going to say to her? He really hadn't thought any of this through.

When he was only a few doors down from his apartment, the door opened, and out came Tess. "Thanks for the tea," she said.

"No problem," Sarah said, staying in the doorway. "Hang in there."

"Thanks." Tess managed a small smile when she saw him approaching. "Hey, Michael."

"Hey," he returned. "How's it goin'?"

"Oh . . ." She sighed, flapping her arms against her sides. "It's going. Later."

"See ya." He frowned, stopping right outside the door, watching her go. Everything about her looked downright . . . depressed. Defeated. It was so evident in her body language. The slumped shoulders, the lowered head, the lumbering walk . . .

"What's wrong with her?" he asked his girlfriend.

Sarah pulled him inside and shut the door. "Kyle's insurance isn't covering his physical therapy anymore. She's really stressed out about it."

"What?" Michael spat, throwing his backpack down. "That's bullshit. He needs therapy to get better."

"Well, apparently the insurance company thinks he should already be better." Sarah rolled her eyes. "I know, it's screwed up. So I offered to help him. I mean, I've worked there for two years now. I know what to do."

"Yeah." Between the two of them, he was confident they could get Kyle the rehab he still so desperately needed. But honestly, it was going to suck not having a state-of-the-art facility at their disposal. "Man, everyone's kinda dealin' with a lot of crap right now, huh?" he remarked. "Tess and Kyle, my sister . . ."

"Everyone but us," she agreed, rising up on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. She patted his shoulder, then twirled around and headed to the bedroom, taking her shirt off in the process.

He hung back and watched her change from her regular clothes down to her undies. She wasn't putting on a show for him, but it was still damn hard not to watch as she opened the second drawer of their dresser and took out one of his Metallica t-shirts. "Did you have a good day?" she asked, tugging it on.

"Uh, yeah," he replied, shuffling forward to sit on the foot of the bed. "It was alright."

"Just alright?" She hopped on beside him, her legs tucked underneath her.

"Well, it was kinda . . . weird," he admitted, not sure how much he should say. He couldn't really tell her everything without alarming her, so maybe it was best not to tell her anything at all.

"Why was it weird?" she asked.

"Well . . ." Shit, he was in a bind. Sarah had his schedule as well-memorized as her own. She'd figure out that he had added in an extra class, so he had to tell her why.

And it wasn't like he could tell her the truth.

"I had to rearrange my class schedule," he explained.

"What? Why?"

"Well, turns out I need a fine arts class."

"Fine arts?" she echoed. "I thought you got that out of the way with Theater or whatever."

"Yeah, so did I, but apparently I need another one." He cringed inwardly as he spoke the words. "So I'm gonna take Music Appreciation."

She laughed a little. "Music _Appreciation_?"

"Yeah." Was that so hard to believe? "I appreciate music."

"Yeah, like . . ." She plucked at the Metallica t-shirt. "And Pearl Jam and Nirvana."

"That's good shit."

"I know, but I don't know if that's the kind of music you'll be studying. Or excuse me, _appreciating_. I'm betting it's a little more, like, Bach and Beethoven. Mozart."

"No, I think it's pretty modern." Based on the one day he'd actually spent in the class, it actually seemed pretty laid-back and cool. Not that he'd really been paying that much attention.

She scooted closer to him, putting one hand on his leg, the other on his arm. "So basically now you're gonna be even busier, huh?"

"Yeah. But it's okay," he assured her. "It's only one more class, and I can handle it. I got a 3.8, you know."

"Ugh," she groaned, playfully pushing him aside. She got up and said, "Whatever you say, Smarty Pants. I'm gonna make dinner."

He laughed a little, getting a kick out of teasing her. But once she was on the other side of the divider and was focused on the food in their refrigerator, he let his teasing smile fade, let himself feel like crap again. Because he'd just lied to her, and he'd never lied to Sarah before.

He just needed some time to figure this whole Maria thing out. That was all. And once he did, then it would just be over. Done. And then he'd never lie to Sarah again.


	11. Chapter 11

Chocolate lava cakes for two had been listed as the number one sexy dessert last Valentine's Day. So even though it wasn't Valentine's Day, Liz made the cakes for her second date with Doug Shellow. It wasn't like she was looking to hop into the sack with him or anything, but she _did_ want to amp things up a bit, steer the conversation from casual to flirtatious. And since she could cook any dessert she set her mind to, lava cakes seemed like a great idea. The plan was to stay in for a romantic date for two at her bakery and eat to their heart's content.

Unfortunately, Doug had a mild chocolate allergy, though. So she was the only one eating.

"So do you know any funny jokes?" she asked him when the conversation started to lull.

"Jokes?" he echoed as if he didn't know the meaning of the word.

Maybe he didn't. She sighed, trying to stay positive. "Yeah, like . . . how do you know a chef is a clown?"

"How do you know a chef is a clown?" he mused. "I don't know. How?"

"The food tastes funny." She cringed, knowing that wasn't her best. "Okay, I got another one. Don't take offense, but . . . how are men like lava lamps?"

He chuckled lightly before he'd even heard the answer. "How?"

"They're fun to look at," she answered, smirking, "but they're not that bright."

"Oh, that's . . . pretty good, actually," he admitted. "That's a good one."

"Thanks." Back when she'd been pregnant, she'd looked up jokes on her phone every morning to try to get herself to stop thinking about how nauseous she'd felt. "Do you have any?" she prompted. She really needed him to be able to make her laugh. He was so nice and so smart, but she wasn't really . . . enjoying herself yet. Doug was nice, but kind of boring.

"I think I might have a few," he contemplated slowly.

"Let's hear 'em." She shoveled in the last spoonful of lava cake she intended to eat and pushed the plate aside, leaning forward eagerly.

He cleared his throat, then asked, "In math, what does the variable _i_ say to pi?"

"To pi?" she echoed, thinking she should be smart enough to figure this out. "I don't know, probably something perverted about eating . . . something."

"Actually, _i_ says, 'Be rational,'" Doug revealed. "And then pi says, 'Get real.'" He laughed.

Liz's eyebrows rose, and she tried to smile. Oh, a good old math joke. Those were never that funny.

Doug's laughter slowly faded. "Well, because pi isn't rational," he explained, "and _i_ 's an imaginary number."

"Oh, right, I kinda . . . forgot about that." In general, if jokes needed to be explained, they weren't really that funny. She decided to stroke Doug's ego a bit, though, and fibbed, "That's a really funny one, Doug. Really funny." Inside, she'd just died a little, though. Was that really the best he had? Because . . . it just wasn't enough. Here he was, this gorgeous guy sitting across from her, suit and tie, luscious caramel hair, kind eyes . . . and she was losing interest at the speed of light.

...

There was only one Saturday night game of the year. It was the second of three night games that season, and it was coming off an unexpected victory in the last night game. So naturally, there were plenty of people in attendance. Even though Alex wasn't a football expert by any means, he enjoyed a game as much as the next person. It was always fun to show that Aggie pride.

He hoped his wife would have some of the same excitement, but she had a downer attitude about it from the second they got there. She complained that the food from the concession stand tasted awful, she complained about how hard the wind was blowing, and she even complained about the opposing team's uniforms.

"Just lighten up," he encouraged her. "This is gonna be a good night." The first quarter had barely even started, and already their team was up by a touchdown. They were predicted to blow this other team out of the water. It would be a fun game, lots to cheer about.

"I just pictured something a little more romantic for date night," she informed him. "Like maybe a nice dinner instead of . . . super nachos."

Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. Back when he'd met Leanna, she'd loved super nachos. She probably still loved them; she was just determined to be in a bad mood, so she was pretending otherwise. "I just thought you'd wanna go to the game," he said. "You love sports."

"Yeah, I love track and volleyball and softball. Things I played."

"Well, I played the tuba," he joked, cracking a smile. "And chess." It was probably so stereotypical for him to have been on the chess team back in high school, but hell, he had a talent, so he'd gone with it.

"Whatever," she dismissed. "Hey, I see someone from Zumba. I'm gonna go say hi. Can you find us a seat?"

"Sure." He surveyed the bleachers below him, dreading it. It was packed, but the nice thing about heading up to the concession stand first was that you got a bird's eye view of everything below. There was an empty area near the top. Not a whole lot of space, but enough for the two of them.

"Alex," he heard a familiar voice say right when he was about to head down the steps. He turned around, and there was Isabel, clad in nothing but a red bikini top that was two sizes too small and jean cutoff shorts that hung low on her hips.

"Isabel." He averted his eyes, just because it didn't feel right to look at her when she was wearing . . . so little. Not only because she had once been his friend, but because she was his student now.

"What're you doing here?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It's a small town, Isabel. It's not like there's a whole lot to do on Saturday night." Not that he would have been doing anything else even if there had been other options. He was a pretty low-key guy.

"Oh, there's plenty to do," she assured him. "Are you here with . . . what's her name again? Linda?"

"Leanna," he corrected.

"Right."

He glanced over his shoulder, hoping his wife wasn't catching sight of any of this. If she got jealous of Liz, she'd surely get jealous of Isabel. "Yeah, I'm here with her," he mumbled, happy to see that her back was to him. "Date night."

"Sounds fun," Isabel remarked.

 _Yeah,_ he thought dejectedly. _If only she thought so._

"So . . ." Isabel drawled, as though he were supposed to understand what she was saying just by her saying that.

He gave her an expectant look.

"Didn't expect to see you here," she admitted.

"Why? Because I'm so un-athletic?" Just because he'd never played football didn't mean he didn't understand football. That was a common misconception. He and his dad used to watch Cardinals games every Sunday. He knew the game well.

"It's just that you're always so busy," she explained, "with teaching and classes and stuff. So I thought you'd be . . . working."

"Well . . ." He surveyed what she was wearing, disappointed that she couldn't have just put a top on to cover up. "I thought you'd be, too."

Quickly, she tried to cover herself up with her arms, but what was the point of that? Everyone had already seen . . . everything. Or at least everything the little triangles of red fabric didn't cover.

Suddenly, another blonde girl popped up at her side. Bleach blonde, this one, wearing a white bikini top and shorts similar to Isabel's. "Actually," she chirped, "she _is_ working tonight."

"Courtney . . ." Isabel gave her a warning look.

"Hi," she greeted, extending her hand. "I'm Courtney, as in Slutty Courtney. You look like the type of guy who's bookmarked my website."

He reluctantly shook her hand, only because it was the polite thing to do. "Not so much."

"Oh, yeah, right," she dismissed skeptically. "I know a fan when I see one. Listen, you should check the site next Tuesday. There's gonna be a new video up, and in it, we're gonna be getting screwed right underneath these bleachers."

Isabel lowered her head, as if she were ashamed. _Good._

"It's called Gametime Gangbang," Courtney proclaimed. "Or something like that. Anyway, it's gonna be good, so check it out."

"I sure . . . won't," he told her.

"What?" Courtney seemed unaccustomed to getting that type of response. "Whatever. You're, like, gay or something. Come on, Isabel." Courtney stomped off angrily, and Isabel gave him a semi-apologetic look before following.

He sighed, watching them go. It sucked, because he remembered the Isabel Evans who used to be a leader. That was where he'd met her for the first time, after all, back at a national leadership conference when she'd been a ninth grader and he'd been a junior.

That girl didn't even exist anymore.

"Ahem."

He spun around again, and there was Leanna, looking at him inquisitively. "So which of them was the ex-girlfriend?" she asked.

"Neither," Alex answered calmly. "Isabel, the one in the red . . . you remember how I told you about her. The one who I went on the disaster date with back when she was in high school."

"And the current porn star." She glared at him. "Really, Alex? You're gonna talk to her?"

"She's in my class."

"That doesn't mean you have to talk to her _here_. God, she's just yet another woman from your past."

"Yet another woman?" he echoed. Who the hell did she think he was, Michael Guerin? His sexual history wasn't housed in the Library of Congress. "Leanna, you know my past. I dated Liz for a few months, went out on _one_ failed date with Isabel, and then I was single until I met you. That's it."

"Whatever," she mumbled, tossing the remainder of her super nachos into the nearest trash can. "I wanna go home." She brushed past him and headed down the bleacher steps.

He sighed, relenting to another failed date, just with a different girl this time. But actually, as much as he would have liked to stay there and watch the game . . . he was okay with going home. Partly because Leanna was in a bad mood. Partly because he didn't want to sit there knowing what was going on beneath those bleachers.

...

"Good job, Aggies!" Michael yelled, clapping his hands loudly when his team progressed the ball for another first down. "Alright!" He glanced down at the sideline and noticed Fly attempting to do a cartwheel to entertain the crowd. Didn't work out. He fell flat on his face.

"Ooh . . ." Michael cringed. That looked pretty bad. But Fly, like the idiot he was, got right back up and attempted a second cartwheel. It was a little better. He only landed that one on his ass.

"What're you gonna get?" he asked his girlfriend, rubbing her shoulders as they waited near the back of a very long line at the concession stand.

"I don't know," she pondered, "maybe . . . a cheeseburger? I forget, are the cheeseburgers any good here?"

"They're alright," he said. They weren't as good as Crashdown burgers, but then again, few things were.

"I think that's what I'll get," she decided. "What're you gonna have?"

"Uh . . ." Before he could answer, the line shuffled forward a bit, and in cut Steve and his wife, Cheryl.

"Oh my god, you're here!" Sarah exclaimed, quickly giving Cheryl a hug. "You look so great!"

Chery brushed the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail back behind her ear. "I look round," she corrected. "Good to see you, though. Hey, Michael."

"Hey," he returned. "Felt well enough to come to the game, huh?"

"Well, I waddled in," Cheryl admitted, "so Steve might have to carry me out."

"Are you kidding? You're way too heavy for me to lift," Steve said, grimacing as the words left his mouth. "Oh, crap."

Sarah laughed. "Oh, Steve . . ."

"You know you shouldn't say that," Cheryl scolded. "I'm crazy and hormonal right now. We've been through this."

"Are the hormones really as bad as they say?" Sarah asked as the line scooted forward a bit more.

"Oh, just as bad and worse," Cheryl assured her. "It's not exaggerated one bit."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah."

Michael started to space out a bit while the two girls kept having their conversation. He so badly just wanted to be there with them without his mind wandering, but he couldn't help it when he looked over into the next long line at the concession stand and saw a blonde girl talking to a group of other girls. For a second, he started to think that maybe it was happening again, that he was seeing Maria DeLuca by chance. But when the girl flipped her hair over her shoulder, he saw that she was just . . . someone else. No one he even knew.

 _Good._ It would've been bad to run into her here.

"Isn't that right, Michael?"

His attention snapped back to his girlfriend when she spoke to him. "What?" he asked distractedly.

"I said we can make room for them to sit by us," she repeated.

"Oh." Looking at Cheryl's gigantic belly, he actually had his doubts about that, but everyone else would slide down for the pregnant chick. They'd make it work. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, of course."

"I don't know if anyone could make room for me right now," Cheryl said skeptically, and she and Sarah continued chatting as they neared the front of the line. Neither one of them even noticed when the crowd let out a huge groan of disappointment. Steve and Michael both looked out on the field, though, and Michael felt his heart sink when he saw what had happened. Aggies lost the ball, had it ripped out on the run by one of the defenders.

"Aggies fumble," the announcer bellowed. "Eagles recover the ball."

The visiting fans cheered and applauded, of course, and Michael sighed disappointedly. Of course they'd fumbled the ball. That Eagles defensive line was stacked. They probably should have run a pass play, but . . . maybe they just weren't confident enough in their receivers.

...

Michael knew he was a lucky guy. But when Sarah felt frisky in the morning, he felt even luckier than usual. She started out their Sunday by wriggling around all over his body, nipping at his skin, brushing the tips of her fingers up his sides. Such a cute little tease. When she sat up and straddled his hips, though, stretching her arms above her head, cute turned into straight-up sexy.

"Wow," he said, basking in the sight of her beautiful body. "This is a good way to wake up."

"Hmm." She dropped her right arm down at her side and moved her left hand through her hair. "Are you up?"

"Am I?" He grinned, grabbed hold of her waist, and pressed his hips up into her. "You tell me."

She purred happily, sliding her hand down her neck to cup her own breast. He reached up and palmed the other one, appreciating the way she had started to circle her hips now, rubbing against the exact right place.

"I think I gotta go inspect what's going on down there," she declared adorably.

"Okay," he agreed. "I want a _full_ report."

"A full one?" She giggled a bit, then slithered down his body and slipped beneath the covers. She had just taken him into her mouth and he was just starting to watch her head bob up and down when her cell phone rang out shrilly from the bedside table. He was content to reach over and shut it off, but she immediately stopped what she was doing and came back out from underneath the covers, telling him, "Answer it."

He groaned disappointedly. "Why?" What they were already doing was so much better.

"Because that's the ringtone for my parents," she explained.

"Oh, then you answer it." He had nothing against Tim and Vivian Nguyen. They were nice people and had always accepted him with open arms. But that didn't mean he wanted to talk to them seconds after having his cock in their daughter's mouth.

She crawled back up on the bed and reached for her phone, answering it just as it was probably about to kick onto voicemail. "Hello?" She smiled, and Michael could tell right away that it was her dad calling. She had a very specific smile that was reserved just for him, because she was totally a daddy's girl. "Hi, Daddy," she said.

Michael stifled his laughter. She managed to sound so sweet and innocent, but what she'd just been doing to him had _not_ been innocent. At all.

"Yeah, we could probably make that work," she said after a slight pause. "Yeah, sounds good. Okay, we'll see you later then."

 _We will?_ Michael thought. Had he just gotten roped into some family plans for the day without even being part of the conversation? Probably. Wouldn't be the first time.

"Okay. Bye, Daddy." She ended the call and tossed her phone down to the foot of the bed. "So . . ." she said, snuggling up beside him. "My family's in town today. How would you feel about spending the day with them?"

Honestly . . . he would have preferred to spend it in bed with her. But Sarah's family was just as awesome as she was; so if they couldn't waste a Sunday fooling around, then going out with them was a decent alternative.

...

For some reason, Sarah's parents loved seafood, and they especially loved this seafood buffet a few miles south of campus. Whenever they came into town, they always suggested going out to eat there, and Michael always went along with it, even though seafood made his stomach do backflips. He usually ate a couple bites of whatever fish they were serving, then spent the rest of the lunch moving food around his plate, making it look like he'd eaten more than he had.

He shuffled down the buffet line with Sarah's little brother, Victor, and tried to distract himself from the various odors of all the food that made him nauseous by asking the kid about his life. "How's high school goin'?" he inquired. Victor was in ninth grade, so chances were, it sucked.

"I hate it," the poor kid droned. "My classes are boring. The jocks make fun of me. I hate the jocks."

Michael laughed lightly, putting some shrimp on his plate. He'd probably be able to eat one.

"Oh, sorry," Victor apologized. "I forgot you used to be a jock."

"Used to be?" Michael feigned offense. "You don't think I'm a jock anymore?"

"Well, you don't play football anymore," Victor pointed out.

Michael grunted. "Only 'cause Kyle doesn't play. I'm still athletic, though."

"Yeah, I know. It's just . . . I don't know, I guess I think of you as more of a . . . nerd."

Michael's eyes bulged. "A _nerd_?" That couldn't possibly be true . . . could it? "I don't think I've ever been called a nerd before."

"Well, my sister's a nerd," Victor said.

 _A sexy nerd,_ Michael thought.

"But you've got a better GPA than her. So that must mean you're a nerd, too."

It wasn't bad logic. In fact, in a weird way, it made a lot of sense. "Huh." Oh, well. He had a new label now. But he felt the need to pimp it out a little bit. "I'm a cool nerd, though, right?"

Victor cracked a smile. "That's an oxymoron," he noted. "See, why do I say stuff like that? That's why people don't like me."

"Ah, I like you, Victor," Michael assured him as they miraculously reached the end of the buffet line. "Don't worry what anyone else thinks about you, alright?"

Victor lowered his head and reluctantly agreed, "Alright."

 _Poor kid,_ Michael thought as he followed him back to their table. High school was hell for everyone, no matter what social group you were a part of, whether you were popular or not. It sucked, and it would always suck. But at least Victor would make it through. He'd end up going to college and finding himself there. Which was more than Tina would probably get to do.

Sarah's father, Tim, was already halfway through the food on his plate when Michael sat down, even though his wife, Vivian, was telling him to slow down. "It's just so good," he raved. "I'm a big fan of this restaurant."

"So am I," Vivian agreed readily.

"Yeah, you guys must be," Michael said. "Every time you come to Carlsbad, we eat out here."

Sarah subtly smiled at him and whispered, "We'll get a burger on the way home."

 _Thank God,_ he thought. He was a man, so he needed real meat, not this crap.

"So, Michael, how's your semester going so far?" Tim asked him.

"Better than _my_ semester," Victor grumbled.

Tim patted his son's shoulder supportively and said to Michael, "Sarah tells us you're pretty busy."

"Uh, yeah, I am," Michael admitted, "but I like everything I'm doing, so it's good."

"How's the practicum?" Vivian asked.

"Good," he replied. "I've only gone a couple of days, but it's been . . ." He thought of Dylan, of seeing him at that school, and he struggled to come up with a word to summarize that moment. "Interesting," he finally settled on.

"Oh, I'm sure," Vivian said. "With elementary school kids, you never know what the day might bring."

"And he's still working for housing, too," Sarah bragged. "I don't know how he does it all. And now he's adding in another class on top of it."

Michael shifted in seat, trying not to look uncomfortable. But he didn't want to talk about this with them. Or at all, really.

"What class is that?" Tim questioned.

"Music Appreciation," Sarah answered for him. "Can you believe they're making him take _another_ fine arts class?"

"That does seem ridiculous," her father agreed. "You might wanna look into that, Michael."

"Oh, I did," Michael assured him. Hell, he'd looking into it a little _too_ much. "It's fine. It'll be alright. I'll just take the class."

"I think it sounds fun," Sarah's mom chirped in between bites. "I love music. You know, I used to play the piano-"

"Brilliantly," Tim cut in.

She smiled and blushed. "Pretty well. My parents wanted me to major in music, but something about the medical field just called to me. And now my own daughter's following in my footsteps."

"Well, sort of," Sarah said. "Pharmacy's not the same as nursing."

"No, it's not," her mom agreed. "You'll work fewer hours and get paid more. Lucky you."

"Lucky me." Sarah smiled and reached under the table to squeeze Michael's hand.

 _And lucky me,_ Michael thought. As much as he hated seafood, he was happy to be out with the Nguyen family right now. They were genuinely non-judgmental, just all around good people. They were the kind of family he would have loved to have growing up. Maybe if his dad hadn't been in the picture, they would have been more like this.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you," Tim said, folding his napkin next to his plate, "but I'm already in need of seconds. Who's with me?"

"I am, Daddy," Sarah piped up, even though she hadn't finished everything on her plate yet. She just wanted to spend time with her dad.

"I suppose I could get a little more of the lobster," Vivian decided, getting up. She put her arm around her daughter's shoulders, and the three of them headed back up to the buffet stand. That left Michael with Victor again, which he was more than happy about, because Victor wouldn't ask any questions about the Music Appreciation thing.

Unfortunately, though, he asked something else. Something a lot . . . bigger. "So, Michael," he said after clearing this throat, "when are you gonna marry my sister?"

Michael nearly choked on the bite of shrimp he was struggling to get down in the first place.

...

"You said _'I don't know?'_ " Kyle shook his head in dismay as Michael helped him up the outside steps into Vidorra. "Oh, man."

"What's wrong with 'I don't know?'" Michael spat. "That's a good, honest answer."

"That's a vague answer."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Alright, well, sorry I don't have my proposal on a timeline like you did, or a diagram of how I'm gonna pop the question."

Kyle grunted as Michael held the door open for him. "Yeah, hell of a lot of good that did me. I'm miserable, Tess is miserable, and we still aren't married."

"Yeah, so maybe you should ask yourself the same thing," Michael suggested, happy to take the questioning off of himself for the time being. "When are you gonna marry _your_ girlfriend?"

Kyle looked down at his feet, like he was purposefully trying to avoid making eye contact with the girl sitting at the front desk. Like he was trying to be invisible, because he didn't want anyone on that campus to see him. "When things get better," he mumbled.

Michael walked ahead a bit and punched the up button on the elevator. "Any idea when that might be?" he pressed.

Kyle shot him a hard look, one of those don't-go-there ones.

It was a long process walking down the hall with Kyle, but eventually, they got to the apartment, where Fly, Monk, and Steve were already waiting. Kyle acted surprised to see them, even though Michael had told him in advance that they'd be there. It just wouldn't have been much of a birthday celebration if it had only been the two of them.

Michael turned on the Sunday night football game, disappointed to see that two teams he couldn't care less about, the Lions and the Ravens, were playing. But it was football, and that was all that mattered. Kyle didn't object to it being on, but he didn't look completely entranced in it, either, so that was a good thing. He actually looked like he'd be willing to hang out with the guys and play some poker, drink a little beer, and just . . . have a good time. Or as good of a time as Kyle ever had anymore.

"Happy birthday, man," Steve said, handing Kyle a Budweiser bottle. "Welcome to the legal drinking age."

Michael popped open the tab to his beer can and took a generous swig. "I'm not there yet," he admitted, "but in my heart I'm there."

Kyle chuckled. "In your heart, you've been there for a long time."

" _Long_ time," Michael agreed emphatically. "How about you, Steve?"

Steve shrugged, flopping down next to Kyle on the couch. "I didn't party much in high school. I mean, I had a few drinks here and there, but nothing major. Now Fly, on the other hand . . ."

The second Fly heard his name come up in conversation, he completely forgot about the poker chips he was supposed to be sorting and the cards he was supposed to be shuffling and left that all to Monk. "Man, I got wasted back in junior high, _chico_. I was a badass. I had detention all the time."

"I went to jail all the time," Michael informed him, "so I'm pretty sure I was badder than you."

"I couldn't screw up like that," Kyle said almost nostalgically, " 'cause of football."

"Well, I screwed up all the time," Michael admitted, not about to let his friend start to feel sorry for himself and what he'd lost, "but that's why I had Kyle there to help me." The roles had definitely been reversed in recent years, but they were still best friends, and he didn't envision that changing anytime soon.

"To Kyle," Steve proclaimed, raising his bottle.

"To Kyle," the other guys echoed, toasting him.

Kyle wasn't nearly as enthused as he sat there with his permanent frown on his face. "Yeah, to me," he muttered, staring down at his bottle. It took him several seconds before he tilted his head back and took a giant swig.

 _This is gonna be a weird party,_ Michael thought. Kyle hadn't been in the mood to celebrate his birthday last year, or the year before that, so just getting him to come along was a success. But getting him to enjoy himself would be tough, even with all these other guys. Luckily Shango hopped up on his lap. That brought a smile to his face.

"Alright, so are we startin' this poker game sometime this century or what?" Michael asked his friends impatiently.

"In a minute," Monk promised. "My OCD's kicking in. I gotta count all the chips twice, and then we'll be good."

Fly swaggered into the living room, a goofy grin on his face. "You know," he said, "we might wait a little longer even, 'cause . . . you know, I got Kyle a present and all. Sort of a . . . hot, nimble present that's on her way as we speak."

"Aw, shit, man," Michael swore. "A stripper? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I don't kid about that shit."

"Hey, I got no problem with it," Steve announced. "There's nothing more beautiful than a pregnant woman, but Cheryl's given me her full permission to enjoy a good stripper here and there."

"Your wife's awesome, man," Kyle commented.

"Yeah, it's this whole look-but-don't-touch policy. I had to sign a contract, but I'm good to go."

"I'm not," Michael said, well aware how whipped he sounded. "Why would you get a stripper, Fly? Why would you bring her to _my_ apartment?"

Fly shrugged exaggeratedly. "I don't know, maybe 'cause I'm horny, and I don't have a girlfriend like you do. And it's Kyle's twenty-first birthday, and stripper's the first gift I thought of." He gave Michael a pleading look. "Come on, man, Sarah's cool. She won't care. And it's not like she's comin' home tonight, right?"

"Not 'til later."

"So you're good then, see? 'cause this'll be a strip-free zone come 9:00. The chick's on her way here right now. She'll be here any minute."

Michael sighed, giving in. Hell, strippers were pretty harmless. She was probably more of a present for Fly than for Kyle anyway. "Fine," he relented. "Have your fun, but she's gotta be outta here by 9:00."

"She will be," Fly promised. "But while she _is_ here, man . . ." He smirked and patted Kyle on the back. "It's gonna be a _happy_ birthday, if you know what I mean."

Kyle just took another drink.

...

Isabel loosened the belt on her jacket as she and Jesse headed down the hallway, nearing the apartment number of tonight's . . . performance. "I'm just saying," she said, "double anal? That's slutty even for Courtney. And did you and Eric feel the least bit weird after it?"

Jesse shrugged. "Not really. I've fucked her before."

"Yeah, but that's like . . . a new extreme." Try as she might, it was hard to hide the fact that she was jealous. Only a little bit, but still . . . Courtney was willing to do things that Isabel would never be willing to do, things that were just too degrading, too downright painful, even. Sometimes she worried that Jesse would lose interest in her because she just wasn't willing to push the envelope the same way her friend was.

"You don't have to compare yourself to her, Isabel," Jesse assured her as if he were reading her mind.

"I'm not," she lied. "I just . . . I don't know, I like it better when the videos are just her and Eric or just you and me. Not so much . . . interbreeding."

He chuckled, stopping a few doors down from the end of the hall. "You're just classier than she is," he told her.

"Oh, yeah, I'm a classy porn star." She wasn't delusional enough to think that, so she untied her jacket to reveal the burlesque corset she was wearing underneath. It was midnight black and bedazzled with sequins. She had on a black thong, black thigh-high tights, and black stilettos to go along with it. Monotone, but sexy. This look was almost as popular as her pink bikini was.

"Go in and give 'em a good show," Jesse urged. "I'll be right out here if you need me."

"Promise?" She gave him a pouty look, needing to believe that he would have her back if it got too out of control in there. All she knew about those guys inside was that they were customers. She had no idea who they were or how much they were going to expect her to do.

"I promise." He kissed her cheek, a surprisingly sweet gesture from him, and that made her feel courageous enough to do what had to be done. So she twisted the doorknob and walked right in, surveying the scene. There was a weird guy at the kitchen table counting poker chips, two guys talking on the couch and watching a stupid football game, and a scruffy Mexican who nearly fell to his knees the moment he saw her.

" _Ay, mami,_ " he gasped. "It's you. Naughty Izzy. You're real."

She smoothed her hands down her stomach to caress the insides of her thighs. "In the flesh." This weirdo was _clearly_ a subscriber. He looked like the type who had watched all of her videos at least ten times.

"So, who's the birthday boy?" she asked him.

"Oh, uh . . ." He pointed to one of the guys on the couch. "Him. But my birthday's in five months, so you're kind of a present for me, too."

Isabel peered closer at the man with his eyes on the TV screen. She couldn't see much of him, just the back of his head and a bit of his profile. But she'd spent enough time with him back in high school to know exactly who he was. In fact, she was surprised she hadn't recognized him when she'd first walked in. In all fairness, though, he didn't look the same. He was fatter now. Hairier. Not at all the superstar athlete she'd always known.

Grinning, she moved up behind him, bent down, and snaked her arms over his shoulders. "You know," she whispered, tilting her head to the side to purr the words into his ear, "I used to have the biggest crush on you."

When it dawned on Kyle who she was, he cursed, "Jesus Christ, Isabel," and tried to scoot away. But that looked like an enormous effort for him.

For a second, she felt sorry for him. She'd heard about what had happened to him at Alabama—hell, everyone with a television set had heard about that. But she hadn't seen him. Not in two years. Not like this. He was . . . different.

But she couldn't shift into friend mode. It wasn't like they were friends anymore anyways. She was there as the entertainment. She had a job to do. "So it's your birthday, huh?" she said, stepping around the couch and in front of the TV, spreading her legs wide. Kyle immediately looked away, but the other guys stared at her with their tongues hanging out.

 _Oh my god,_ she thought suddenly, her insides tingling with anticipation. If Kyle was the birthday boy and this was his birthday party, that had to mean . . . he couldn't be the _only_ blast from her past here.

As if on cue, the bathroom door opened, and out came Michael. He froze when he saw her, looking at her as if he'd seen a ghost.

She smirked. _Fucking perfect._

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," he grumbled. "Fly! Why the hell would you book _her_?"

"Dude, would you look at her?" Fly yelped.

"Oh, he has looked at me," Isabel assured him. "Plenty of times."

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Michael growled, stomping towards his Mexican friend, backing him into a corner in the kitchen. "Are you really so stupid that you'd hire my ex-girlfriend to come take her clothes off in the apartment I share with my current girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" Isabel echoed, joining them in the kitchen. "That cute Asian chick I've seen you with at parties? She's hot. I'd do her."

"Yeah, I'm sure you would. Look . . ." Michael looked at Fly like he was resisting the urge to slap him, then just shook his head. "You're an idiot, man."

"Sorry," Fly apologized. "Honestly, man, I kinda thought you were lyin' about doin' it with her."

"Oh, he's not," Isabel confirmed. "We used to do it all the time."

Michael turned to her, full of agitation. "Alright, you need to leave," he ordered.

"Why?" She smirked. "Afraid you'll enjoy the show?"

"I've already seen the show," he growled. "It never really could hold my interest."

Her taunting grin turned into a glare of animosity, and she felt the need to fire it right back at him. "Just like you couldn't hold Maria's."

He didn't have a snappy comeback for that one. In fact, judging by that flash of hurt in his eyes, it looked like it sort of stung.

"Oh, happy birthday to me," Kyle deadpanned from the couch. "This is just what I wished for."

"Just leave, Isabel," Michael said, keeping his eyes locked on hers as if he were purposefully trying not to look anywhere else on her body, "with whatever dignity you have left."

"Oh, you don't understand. I'm bought and paid for. Well . . ." She shot Fly or Flea or whatever his name was a pointed look. "Bought, anyway."

"Alright, pay up then, Fly," Michael urged.

"Ah, dammit, man." Fly reached into his pocket, then his back pocket, then shot Michael an alarmed look. "Uh . . . problem, _chico_."

Michael groaned, rolling his eyes. "Are you serious right now?"

"I left my wallet at home, man!"

"Fuck my life," Michael swore, pulling out his own wallet. He handed Isabel five twenties, but she scoffed at that.

"I'm a famous porn star, Michael," she pointed out. "I'm not cheap."

Reluctantly, he took out two more twenties, and even though it was sixty bucks short of what she would have normally requested, she figured it was good enough since she hadn't _actually_ done any stripping. Besides, Michael looked pretty pissed, so if she didn't walk out on her own, he was probably about to throw her out.

"Fine," she said, folding up the money and stuffing it down between her breasts. "Enjoy the party."

Fly whimpered as she walked out the door. This had to be a big letdown for him. But truth be told, it was a bit of a letdown for her, too. If there was anyone she would have loved to strip for, it would be Michael Guerin. Despite what he'd implied, he used to love watching her take her clothes off. And Kyle would have been an added bonus. She really _had_ developed a crush on him back in the day, back when he and Tess had first started dating. Of course, she'd never told Tess that.

"That was fast," Jesse said, holding open her coat for her. "You get paid?"

"Yep." She pulled the money out of her corset and handed it to him.

"That's my girl." He grinned and kissed her again, on the lips this time. "Why so quick, though?"

She closed her jacket, tying it around her waist to cover herself up, and gave him a vague explanation that would hopefully be enough to satisfy him. "They were a tough crowd to please."


	12. Chapter 12

Michael sat down in Vanessa Whitaker's desk chair and spun it around a few times, testing out what it would feel like to actually work there and be the permanent resident of that office. Maybe someday. Not that he was out for her job or anything, but it'd be cool to someday have an office of his own. Bigger than hers, of course.

His phone vibrated in his pocket while he was spinning, and he knew it was Sarah calling before he even saw Crazy Girl on the caller ID. He stopped spinning and answered it by asking, "So how was yoga class?"

"Good," she replied. "I think I'm getting even _more_ flexible."

He grinned, liking the sound of that.

"Although . . . Tess and I decided we might give up yoga, maybe take stripperobics instead. Since that's what you and Kyle are into."

"Ha, ha." Despite her teasing, he was glad he'd told her all about last night. "Very funny."

"It is, kind of."

He scooted the chair forward, leaning against the desk, trying to figure out how she could be so calm about the whole thing. Most girls would have freaked out. "You're really not mad?"

She laughed. "No. Actually, when I found out Fly was coming to the party, I pretty much assumed he'd hire a stripper. Of course, I didn't know it was gonna be your ex-girlfriend, but as long as nothing was actually stripped, I'd say no harm, no foul."

He smiled appreciatively. Of course his girlfriend wouldn't freak out. She was confident and secure enough in herself not to. "Sarah, you are so cool," he told her.

"Oh, plus, if I end up planning Tess's bachelorette party someday, I can pretty much guarantee we'll be having at least two male strippers. Full on _Magic Mike_ style."

As hypocritical as it was, the thought of _that_ didn't exactly sit comfortably with him. "I could be your Magic Mike," he offered. Hell, he had the name going for him and everything. Screw his lack of rhythm.

"I'll keep you in mind for the job," she teased. "Okay, I gotta go. See you when you get home. Love you."

"Love you, too." He ended the call just as Vanessa came back into her office. She gave him a look, and right away, he took the hint and got up out of her chair.

"Who was that?" she asked him.

"My girlfriend." He stepped aside so that she could take a seat and slid his phone back into his pocket.

"How long have you been together?" she asked him.

"Two years."

"Huh." She looked him up and down, teasing, "You must have snagged a good one then. Wonder how that happened."

"Yeah, I'm honestly not sure," he admitted.

"Well, why don't you head on home and spend some time with her," she suggested.

"Are you sure?" He really wanted to put his best foot forward here at Pound, and if that meant staying later than the average practicum student would have, he was willing to do it.

"Yes, go," she urged. "I just have to send out a few emails and then I'm gonna head out, too. I'll see you tomorrow."

He had to admit . . . as much as he was enjoying himself there, it would be nice to get home earlier than he'd expected, surprise Sarah, maybe fool around with her a bit before his work shift tonight. "Alright, see you tomorrow," he echoed, giving her half a wave as he slipped out of the office. The secretary was still there, talking on the phone to someone who, judging by the shrill voice coming through the receiver, sounded like an irate parent. She gave him a miserable look, and he mouthed, 'Hang up.' But she just shook her head sadly and kept listening as the parent bitched her out.

Now _that_ was a thankless job.

"Hang in there, Patty," he whispered, and just as he was about to step out of the office, he froze, because he saw . . .

 _What the hell?_

Dylan was out there, and that alone would have been enough to stop him dead in his tracks, because no matter how many times he saw him here, he wouldn't get used to it; but it made no sense, because right there with Dylan— _right_ there—zipping up his backpack and sliding it onto his shoulders for him . . . was a face he'd never forget.

Max.

Max _Evans._

What the _fuck_ was this?

In a split second, Michael felt like he was back there . . . back on that bridge, watching helplessly as Dylan slipped and fell. He remembered the pure panic in his voice as he'd yelled Dylan's name, remembered the instinctiveness of launching himself off that same bridge, jumping into the water after him. To save him.

Feeling that same rush of instinct, he tore out of the office, adrenaline pumping. "Get the hell away from him!" he roared, storming towards Max.

Max immediately got in front of Dylan and held his hands up non-combatively. "Michael, wait . . ."

He didn't want to wait. He wasn't about to stand around and let Max spew out some bullshit to explain why he was there. With Dylan. With _Dylan._

Michael grabbed him by his shirt and tossed him back against the brick wall as hard as he could. Then he curled his hand into a fist, swung, and punched him square in the jaw. It hurt his hand, but it probably hurt Max's face more, so he did it again. And again. And one more time, just to make sure it left a mark.

And that was when he heard Dylan scream.

He stopped mid-punch and looked over his shoulder at the little boy. He was crying. He looked afraid.

 _Oh, shit,_ he thought, reality sinking in. _What the hell did I just do?_

"Michael!" Vanessa and Patty both came out of the office, yelling at him. "What are you _doing_?" Vanessa shrieked. "Stop!" She grabbed his shoulders and yanked him away from Max, who was grimacing, as if bracing himself for another impact.

Like a coward.

"Get off of him!" Vanessa blared, placing herself squarely between him and Max. "What do you think you're doing?"

His mouth felt dry, but he wanted to explain. He wanted to tell her about that night, about what Max had done, about how there was no _possible_ way he was supposed to be there. Different town, different year, but the same guy was up to the same old tricks.

But he couldn't say any of that, because all he could do was look at Dylan, who Patty had scooped up into her arms now. He was holding tightly to her and crying.

 _Oh god._ Michael forced the tenseness out of his body and an apology out of his mouth. "I'm sorry." It wasn't an apology for Max, though. The guy deserved far worse than this. It was for Dylan. He didn't need to see this.

"You're damn right you're sorry," Vanessa ground out. "You're done."

He looked at her pleadingly, regretting his own impulsiveness now. "Please, just let me explain."

"Get out of this school," she ordered, "before I throw you out."

He stared at her in disbelief, although . . . he _did_ believe it. She _would_ throw him out. And she should. He must have seemed like a lunatic, but she didn't understand.

He wasn't even sure _he_ understood it himself, because he kept expecting Max to pipe up with some annoying comment or some lie, but he was just silent, looking away. Almost like he was embarrassed by the whole thing.

Michael's head felt like it was spinning. It was as if, all of a sudden, his old life was invading this new one. Colliding. Shattering.

He threw his hands up in the air, backed away harmlessly, praying she would change her mind and tell him to go into her office instead so she could talk to him about this. But of course she didn't. He'd just screwed up about as much as he possibly could screw up. She'd never allow him back there.

Dylan's aching cries still echoed in his ears as he turned and walked out.

...

Being that she worked in the healthcare field, Sarah was all concerned when Michael arrived home with an injury. Not even a major one, but she seemed to think it was major when he sheepishly showed her his scraped up knuckles and shaky fingers. She immediately took him into the bathroom and started fixing him up, taking care of him way more than he probably needed _or_ deserved. She cleaned his hand with a warm washcloth and put some ice on it to help the inevitable swelling, but when she asked if it hurt and he complained about his pinky finger, she got the medical supplies kit out from under the sink and started taping his pinky to his ring finger.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked her.

"Because, we need to immobilize your finger as much as possible," she explained. "Hopefully this works. Otherwise you might have to go to a doctor."

Inwardly, he scoffed at that suggestion. There was no need. He'd thrown plenty of punches in his day, and he'd never had to go to a doctor once because of it.

"Your whole hand's gonna swell," she warned him as she carefully wound the tape around his two fingers. "You have to rest it a lot tonight and tomorrow."

"It'll be fine," he assured her. This was no big deal.

She sighed shakily, securing the tape with a worried look on her face. "I don't get it," she said. "How did you even do this? You said you hit something?"

"Yeah." When he'd first walked in, he'd figured vague was best.

"What, like a wall?" she asked.

No, not a wall. That would have been too simple, too boring. Too easy to explain. He just _had_ to go and make things harder on himself. "More like this guy's face," he confessed.

She let go of his hand and took a step back, looking up at him incredulously. "What?"

"Yeah." He wasn't about to tell her who that guy was, but he wasn't going to keep her completely in the dark about it, either. "I hit someone."

Her mouth dropped open in absolute bewilderment. " _What_? Who? Why?"

With his uninjured hand, he scratched his eyebrow. "Which question am I supposed to answer first?"

"You _hit_ someone?" she shrieked. "In the _face_? You punched a guy in the _face_?"

"Yeah." He shifted uncomfortably, mumbling, "It's not that weird. I used to punch people all the time. Underclassmen. Other jocks. Teachers."

She grunted, putting one agitated hand on her hip. "Okay, but that still doesn't explain why you would punch someone _now._ And who did you hit?"

"Just . . ." It made his blood boil to picture Max's fucking stupid face in his mind, so he had to stop picturing it before he got too mad. "This guy at the school."

"What guy?" she questioned. "Like, someone else who works there?"

"No." The more he talked about it, the more it started to frustrate him. He just couldn't explain it to her so that she'd understand. "One of the parents."

"One of the _parents_?" Her eyes bulged. "Oh my god, are you crazy?"

 _Probably,_ he thought.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because, he was just . . . he's a jerk, alright?" he sputtered. "He's not a good dad."

She sighed heavily, her shoulder slumping. "Oh, Michael . . ."

"And I _know_ I shouldn't have done it," he acknowledged, "and I _know_ I probably just screwed up my whole practicum, but I don't care, 'cause he deserved it."

She waited a moment, then moved in closer to him and picked up his injured hand in hers, stroking the back of it softly with her thumb. "I think I get it now," she said sadly. "You saw this guy being a jerk to his son, and it reminded you of how horrible your dad was with you, didn't it?"

It wasn't a bad theory, but it wasn't right. At all. He didn't expect her to 'get it,' not when there was no possible way she could. He loved her for trying, but she just couldn't understand why seeing Max Evans at that school had set him off like this.

So he just had to tell her one more little lie. "Yeah, that's . . . that's what happened," he muttered, feeling ashamed of himself for not being honest with her.

With her free hand, she reached up and stroked his cheek gently. "Michael, I'm so sorry you had such an awful relationship with your dad," she sympathized, "but you can't take out your anger and resentment on other dads who aren't quite up to par. It's not your place to pass judgment on them."

 _I'll judge Max 'til the day I die,_ he thought stubbornly. Whatever the reason was for him being there . . . he didn't agree with it. There was no reason for him to be there.

"You can't just go around hitting people when you get mad at them," she lectured. "It's reckless and immature and impulsive and . . . it's not _you_ , Michael. It's not who you are."

He frowned, thinking back to that night on the bridge, to the all-out _brawl_ with Max that had preceded Dylan's fall into the water. That was the last time he'd ever punched someone, until now. But it was like riding a fucking bike; you never forgot how. "It's who I used to be," he mumbled, brushing past her on his way out of the bathroom. As grateful as he was for her taking care of his hand and trying to look out for him, his head was spinning right now because of everything he'd seen today. He needed to go lie down and try to forget that he'd seen anything.

...

When Max and Dylan came home that afternoon, Maria was at the kitchen table, busily filling out a job application online. Not a waitressing job this time; a _hostess_. Very different. Supposedly.

Whatever. It was a job. She needed something part-time.

"Hey, guys," she greeted, barely glancing up from the computer screen. She was almost done. Just a few more questions to answer. These damn applications nowadays took forever to fill out.

"Go play in your room," she heard Max tell Dylan.

Maria frowned, eyes still locked on the computer screen, fingers typing furiously as she tried to finish up. Dylan was usually a lot more chipper when he got home from school. He liked to tell her what they'd done that day and what they were going to do the rest of the week. He never went straight to his room to play.

"Is everything okay?" she asked Max as she clicked the submit button of the online document.

"I guess," he mumbled, coming into the kitchen and opening up the refrigerator. He bent down, looked around for a bit, and, apparently finding nothing that he liked or wanted to eat, shut the door.

"Are _you_ okay?" she rephrased.

"Sure," he replied, walking back to the front door so he could kick his shoes off. "Can't say the same for Dylan, though."

Now Maria was starting to get worried. Something wasn't right. "Why?" she pressed. "What happened?"

Hesitating, Max looked up at her, his face covered in afternoon shadow, and then slowly, he came towards her. The closer he got, the more she noticed his face. There was a light purple bruise around his left eye, and his lower lip was swollen and cut.

"Oh . . . my god," she gasped, getting to her feet. She tried to reach out to put her hand on his face, but he backed away. "What _happened_?" she asked again, more adamantly this time.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and averted his eyes for a moment, almost as if he were . . . ashamed. "Your ex-boyfriend happened," he finally revealed.

Maria felt like her stomach just . . . dropped. And her heart right along with it. She nearly stumbled backward, bowled over by this revelation. " _What_?" she spat.

"Yeah," he muttered. "He was there. At the school."

 _Oh, shit._ She mentally swore at herself for even allowing Max to go pick Dylan up today. She should have figured out why Michael had ever shown up there in the first place. Part of her had wanted to chalk the whole thing up as one gigantic coincidence and nothing more, but now . . . this wasn't coincidental. He was on a mission or something.

"Michael was there?" she asked, playing dumb. She wasn't trying to be dishonest, but . . . she just had to act surprised. If Max knew she'd seen Michael the other day, and if he knew Dylan had seen him at school before . . . he'd feel so betrayed. And it wasn't a betrayal.

"Michael was there," Max confirmed. "Michael was pissed. And unfortunately Dylan saw the whole thing."

 _Oh my god,_ she thought, her mind panicking. _Oh my god, oh my god._ No wonder Dylan had been despondent then. No wonder he wasn't his usual bubbly self. "I don't understand," she said, and that was the honest to God truth. She _didn't_ understand any of this. For over two years, she hadn't seen or heard anything from Michael. And now he was just . . . he was just everywhere, it seemed.

"I don't know why he was there," Max mumbled, picking at the cut on his lip. "Who knows? Maybe he's dating a new girl who already has a kid. I mean, that's his type, you know."

She rolled her eyes, not at him, but just at the situation. It was so ridiculous that, at this point, that scenario was very possible. It wasn't something she particularly loved to think about, but . . . at least that would explain it.

"Did you say anything to him?" she questioned. Back in the day, Max had liked to say things to Michael that would purposefully set him off. Maybe he'd slipped back into old habits . . .

"I didn't say anything. I had no idea he was even there," Max said, starting to pace around the kitchen. "He just came out of the office, hit me a bunch of times, and then they told him to leave. And he left."

 _God, typical Michael,_ she thought. So impulsive and over-the-top. He never learned, did he?

"I'm sorry," she apologized, feeling like it was needed. She should have warned him that Michael might be there. She should have told him what Dylan had said to her. But it was too late now.

"Not your fault," he muttered, avoiding looking at her. She couldn't tell if he was embarrassed about getting hit, or felt guilty for Dylan witnessing it. Or maybe he was just too tense, too upset about everything, to look her in the eye.

"Listen, Max . . . just let me handle it," she suggested softly. "I'll figure out why he was there, and . . . and we won't let this cause drama for us." They definitely didn't need it. Things had been good. Things had been steady and easy and calm for a while now. She wanted it to stay that way.

"You sure that's a good idea?" he questioned. "You being the one to handle it?"

She gave him a look, already decided that he would not be going back to that school to pick up Dylan until she knew Michael wasn't going to be there anymore. And why he'd been there in the first place. "Well, he's not gonna punch _me_ in the face," she pointed out.

"I guess not," he acknowledged.

She sighed shakily, wrapping her arms around herself, moving in closer to him, standing just inches away. "So is Dylan freaked out then?" she asked, concerned for her son. Thankfully, the last time Michael and Max had fought in front of him, he'd forgotten it. He'd forgotten all the awful events of that night. But he wouldn't forget this.

"He didn't say much on the way home. I think he's just confused," Max said. "Just like me."

Great. She'd have to talk to him tonight, figure out something to say. Then, after she had the facts and understood what in the _hell_ Michael was doing, then she could talk to him some more, help him be . . . less confused.

 _Everything's fine,_ she assured herself, shivering. _I can handle this._

...

Michael plucked one of the pink heart marshmallows out of his Lucky Charms cereal and handed it down to Shango, who was sitting at his feet, peering up at him expectantly and waiting patiently for any goodies that came his way. Breakfast seemed to be his favorite meal, although he was pretty much a hungry dog all the time.

"Stop feeding him people food," Sarah scolded as she scrambled herself some eggs.

"There's no such thing as people food," he corrected her. "There's just food. People can eat it. Dogs can eat it."

"Well, he's gonna get fat if he eats too much," she cautioned.

"Not if I walk him."

"Which you do _so_ much," she remarked sarcastically.

"I'll do it more," he vowed. "Listen, babe, you gotta trust me when I say I know everything about raising a puppy."

"Hmm." She gave him a skeptical look. "Even though Shango's your first one?"

"Yeah." Okay, so he was being cocky as hell about it, but puppies were simple. Easier than babies.

"Really?" she pushed. "How's that toilet-training going?"

That shut him up for a second. Fine, so that had been a flop, but he'd really tried. "Okay, we all knew that one was a long-shot," he said.

"Oh, did we?" she snapped, shaking her head as she returned her attention to the eggs in the frying pan.

Michael thought about subtly slipping Shango another marshmallow, but he thought better of it when he took another look at Sarah. She seemed . . . like she wasn't in the greatest mood this morning, which was rare but bothersome to him. "You're pissed at me, huh?" he guessed.

She turned down the stove burner to low heat and left the eggs in there as she padded towards him. "No."

"Yes, you are." He could tell.

"I'm just . . ." She flapped her arms against her sides as she searched for the right word. "Frustrated."

Oh, shit, that sounded bad. "Not sexually, right?" he asked, horrified if that was the case.

That managed to get a little laugh out of her. "No. Just . . ." She paused for a moment, letting out a long sigh. "You were upset last night, and I didn't know how to make you feel better. And it was frustrating."

"Oh . . ." He pushed his cereal bowl aside, knowing he'd kind of slipped back into jerk mode yesterday. He hadn't meant to be closed off or ungrateful or any of the other things he probably had been. Now that he'd had a night to sleep on it, he felt calmer. He felt like he could make sense of yesterday and not let it affect today. It was all going to be fine.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her down on top his lap, and she wrapped her arms around her neck. "It's not your job to make me feel better," he told her, holding her waist.

"It kind of is, though," she insisted.

How could he explain that nothing would have made him feel better last night? There was nothing she could have said or done that would have gotten him out of his horrible mood. He'd just needed last night to process everything and get over it . . . as much as he could, at least.

"Well, don't worry. I'm back to my usual self now," he assured her. "I'm in a better mood today."

"Good." She cupped his face and kissed him lightly, then got back up and went over to the stove to check her eggs. "Because you're gonna need to be. You've got Music Appreciation today."

"Yeah . . ." He slid his cereal bowl back in front of himself, debating now whether or not he should even go. Maybe it would just make things worse.

"Are you excited?" she asked. "Or nervous?"

He scooped up what little was left of his Lucky Charms. Unfortunately, the only two letters that ended up swirling around in the milk collected by his spoon were two soggy M's.

"A little bit of both," he confessed, suddenly not very hungry anymore.

...

Michael got to Music Appreciation early, mostly just for the dramatic effect of having Maria walk in and see him there. He sat in the front row of the lecture hall, right around the same seat she'd chosen last Thursday. And he waited. And then he waited some more. And finally, when he was tired of waiting and there were only five minutes left until the start of class, she strolled in, her eyes focused on her phone as she texted someone.

 _Max?_ he couldn't help but wonder. Hopefully not.

"Well . . ." he drawled.

She immediately stopped dead in her tracks and looked up from her phone, her expression a shocked one.

"We meet again." He grinned like a jackass, sort of enjoying that he could torment her a little.

Her fingers shook, and she nearly dropped her phone. Pocketing it, she looked away from him, shook her head in silent outrage, and made a beeline for the back of the room instead. Like that would help.

He stayed seated for a moment, smirking at her futile attempt to get away from him. No way was he going to let that be all he said to her. No, they were going to have a conversation, whether she wanted to or not. With that in mind, he picked up his backpack off the floor and rose up, following her to the last row. She rolled her eyes when he flopped down in the seat right next to her.

"Works for me," he proclaimed. "I used to be more of a back-of-the-class guy anyway."

"Used to be?" she challenged.

"Yeah." She wouldn't understand that he wasn't that same high school idiot anymore. She probably wouldn't care.

Beginning to look frazzled, unnerved, she stuffed her phone into her purse and started searching around for something. Finally, she pulled out a pen, but just as soon as she did, she put it back and zipped the whole thing up again. Like she couldn't decide if it was worth it to stay. Finally, she asked the obvious question. "What're you doing here?"

"Appreciating music," he replied simply. "You?"

Again, she rolled her eyes. "You don't honestly expect me to believe you're in this class, do you?"

"I am," he insisted.

"Since when?"

"Last week."

"Why?" she demanded. "To annoy me?"

"Hmm." He bit back a smile. "No, that's just an added bonus. I'm only here 'cause I need a fine arts credit. Don't flatter yourself."

"So _coincidentally_ , out of _all_ the fine arts classes you could take, you end up in mine." She shook her head skeptically, managing to look around the room at _everything_ else but him.

The only way around getting caught in a lie was to lie some more, so he kept playing it up that he _had_ to be there. "I didn't even know you were in this class. I just took it. It was the only one that sounded like it wouldn't suck."

She grunted, slung her purse over her shoulder, and grumbled, "Well, _this_ sucks," as she stood up and stormed out of the auditorium.

 _Oh . . . crap,_ he thought. He'd played the jerk angle a little too hard. Now she was too pissed to talk to him. Didn't matter, though. If she wasn't sitting through that class today, neither was he.

Not so easily persuaded to leave her alone, he got up and walked out after her. Luckily she hadn't gone far. She had thrown her purse down on the wooden bench below the bulletin board, and her body language was tense and agitated as she stared at the various fliers posted there, probably not reading one of them. She was dragging one hand through her hair, and she didn't turn around to look at him, not even when she must have heard him come out.

"Fine, run away," he bit out, unable to hold back his own anger and resentment. "That's what you do best."

At least _that_ got a reaction out of her. She whirled around, green eyes blazing with accusation, and roared, "Are you _serious_ right now? We haven't seen each other in over two years, and _that's_ what you say to me?"

"Well, what did you expect?" he snarled back. This girl had broken his heart once. He couldn't exactly be a one-man welcoming committee.

"I didn't _expect_ any of this," she said dramatically. "I didn't expect you to be in this class, on this campus, in this _town_. I sure as hell didn't expect you to be at my son's school."

"Yeah, what the hell was Max doin' there anyway?" he demanded.

She huffed, folding her arms over her chest. "That's . . . none of your business."

"No, it _is_ my business," he insisted vehemently, "because the last time I saw that guy, he was high as a fucking kite and kidnapping Dylan out of my house."

"You don't understand," she muttered, kicking the toe of her sneakers against the linoleum.

"So explain it to me."

"No!" she yelped. "I don't have to explain anything to you! Just . . . things are different."

Hearing her say that . . . shit, it brought him back. _Right_ back. Back to that street, where her car was loaded up and ready to go. Back to that moment where he'd barely been able to catch his breath, because he'd just run from his high school graduation, thinking he could get to her in time.

" _Maybe if things were different."_ That's what she'd said to him back then.

Thinking back to that moment, and living in this one right now . . . he swore he hated her just a little bit. He glared at her in disbelief, not able to fathom how things could be _so_ different that she would ever agree to let that prick back into Dylan's life.

"What?" she spat, eyeing him angrily.

"Whatever," he dismissed. He wasn't about to get trapped in the past. He wasn't about to feel that fucked up again.

"No, not _whatever_ , Michael," she ground out angrily. "You can't just show up at Dylan's school and go all 'fists of fury' on Max. Why the hell were _you_ even there? Dylan told me he saw you before this, too."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm there for a practicum," he informed her.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "A practicum?"

"Yeah, it's like a class. I had to do it so I can be a guidance counselor someday."

That eyebrow shot even farther upward. "A _guidance_ counselor."

"Yeah."

She actually started to laugh a little, a clear sign that she didn't believe him, that she just thought he was pulling her leg.

"Ask Vanessa Whitaker if you don't believe me," he urged. Although he did understand why she would have doubts. He'd barely passed school, so the thought of him wanting to work for one had to seem ridiculously far-fetched. "She's my cooperating counselor. Or at least she was. I'm pretty sure they'll never let me go back there now."

"Well, that's your own fault," she said, no trace of sympathy in her voice.

He flapped his arms against his sides exasperatedly. "Sorry for trying to defend your son."

"He didn't need defending!" she shouted. "God, you can't do this, Michael! I'm not . . ." She pressed both hands to the side of her head, looking like she was about to pull her own hair out. "I'm not doing this." She seized her purse again, gave him one last glare, and then stomped off down the hall.

 _Just let her go,_ his mind told him, but his mouth had other ideas. "Hey!" he yelled.

Reluctantly, she stopped and turned back around, looking back at him impatiently, like she couldn't wait to get gone.

He didn't know why he had stopped her, what he wanted to say. All he knew was that, during the course of this conversation, he'd ended up getting just as pissed off as she had. And now all he wanted to do was say something to hurt her feelings just as much as his feelings had been hurt when he'd seen Max at that school. Just as much as when she'd completely ignored him when he'd called out to her at that intersection the other day. Just as much as when she'd driven down that road without even looking back. Not even once.

"I got over you," he blurted. There. Somewhere deep down inside, that had to sting.

If it did, though, she didn't let on. She didn't say anything, either, though. No response for that one. Just a painfully long three-second stare, and then she'd turned her back and was on her way again.

 _Always leaving,_ he thought, feeling deflated now. _Never staying._ Maybe things weren't so different nowadays after all.


	13. Chapter 13

For some reason, Maria always felt like she was being judged whenever she set foot in Dylan's school. It was no one's fault; no one there gave her dirty looks or said anything to indicate that they were doing such a thing. She was just overly self-conscious. Because she was younger than the other moms. Because she felt like she had to prove that she was just as good at it as they were. Ridiculous stuff like that.

"Hi," she greeted the secretary when she came into the office.

"Well, hi, Maria," Patty returned cheerfully. She always cheerful. In fact, usually everyone there was. They were a nice staff. They didn't judge her.

"I'm just here to pick up Dylan for his dentist appointment," Maria explained.

"Oh, okay."

"But I'm a little early," she added. "Actually, I was wondering if Ms. Whitaker was here. I need to talk to her."

"Sure. She's in her office right now. Go on in," Patty said.

"Thank you." Maria slipped around the front desk, past the nurse's station, and knocked on the door to Vanessa's office.

"Come in," she heard.

Slowly pushing open the door, Maria took in a silent but shaky breath. Even though she'd come straight here after bailing on her class today, part of her had worried that Michael would be there, too, like he'd beat her there somehow. The guy was everywhere lately; it was impossible to escape him.

Thankfully, it was just Vanessa, though. She was tangled up in her phone cord, talking to someone as she searched through one of her filing cabinets for something. Right away when she saw Maria, she told whoever she was talking to, "Hey, I have to go. I'll call you back later, okay?" and hung up the phone. "Maria," she said, quickly untangling herself. She had to step over her phone cord to get out of it, but she managed. "I assume this means you got my voicemail."

"Yeah. I was trying to text you back a response this morning, but I got, um . . ." She shook away the mental image of Michael sitting in the front row of the classroom, waiting for her. "Busy."

"Oh, that's fine," Vanessa said, shutting her filing cabinet. "I left Max the same message, but I haven't heard back from him."

"You probably won't," Maria informed her. "I think he just wants to put the memory of yesterday behind him." Max didn't ignore the past, but he didn't dwell on it, either. It was part of his strategy for coping with . . . everything. Everything he'd done. So he hadn't said anything about Michael this morning, not one thing at all. And he wouldn't. He'd move on. That was what he did, and he'd learned to do it well.

"Well, I'm glad you came in," Vanessa said, lowering herself into her chair. "Have a seat," she suggested.

Maria pulled up a chair, not sure how to broach the obvious topic of conversation they needed to discuss. It was weird, especially for her. Talking about Michael felt like talking about another life.

"First of all," Vanessa started in, much to Maria's relief, "I want to apologize for what happened here yesterday. To be honest, I don't quite understand it, I certainly don't abide it, and I want to assure you that your son _is_ safe in this environment. What happened yesterday will never happen again."

Maria didn't doubt that much, but that wasn't was concerned her. "Is Michael really your practicum student?" she asked, incredulous.

"He was," Vanessa confirmed. "He's not anymore."

 _Huh. Wow,_ she thought, slightly stunned. Never would she have imagined that Michael would pursue counseling as a career. Sex counseling, maybe, but not this. This was . . . unexpected. In a strange way, she felt proud of him.

"So you know Michael?" Vanessa asked, apparently just now piecing it together.

"Um . . . yeah," she admitted. "It's kind of a long story." She hoped to just leave it at that, but with Vanessa looking at her expectantly, she felt compelled to elaborate. "He's my ex-boyfriend," she explained. "Or . . . fiancé, technically." She cringed after saying that, because . . . well, because she felt stupid for ever letting their relationship get that far. They'd been _so_ young.

"Oh." Vanessa's face now registered surprise. "I did not know that."

"It was years ago," Maria made sure to add. "He was a senior in high school; I was nineteen. It was sort of this whirlwind romance. We were both really caught up in it." _Really caught up?_ She scoffed internally at that, knowing it was a severe understatement.

"Sounds like," Vanessa agreed. "Well, still, I apologize. That doesn't give him any right to do what he did."

"No," Maria agreed. "But there's, uh . . . there's more to it than that." She shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of how much she should reveal here. Max didn't tell people about the past because he didn't want people to know. But didn't Vanessa need to know? Wasn't it almost part of her job?

Taking a deep breath, Maria started to recount the whole unpleasant story, the abridged version, because she couldn't handle any other one. "When Michael and I were together, he thought of Dylan like a son. And Dylan thought of him like a father. Max wasn't really in the picture back then, because he had a lot of problems. Like, um . . ." She lowered her head, feeling ashamed for him as she mumbled, "Drug problems." She glanced at Vanessa cautiously, checking for any signs of judgment. There were none, so she kept going. "Anyway, there was this one night where I was out of town, and Michael was supposed to be taking care of Dylan, but he got distracted. And while he was distracted, Max showed up and . . ." She shivered at the horrific memory. Even though she hadn't been there to see it, she could imagine in vividly. "He took Dylan," she confessed. "Drove off with him, ended up crashing his car on a bridge because he was so high. But Michael caught up to them, and he and Max were fighting when Dylan just . . ." She felt her lower lip tremble as she pictured something she often tried not to. "He fell into the water. He almost drowned, but Michael jumped in after him and pulled him out."

Vanessa seemed shocked into silence for a few seconds as she leaned forward, folding her hands atop her desk. "Oh, goodness," she finally managed, "that's . . . unthinkable. I can't even imagine . . ."

"Don't imagine," Maria cautioned. It was too painful. "Anyway, long story short, Max ended up leaving town because of it, and Michael and I broke up. And then I left town, and now two years later, somehow we've all found ourselves here."

"Like a confluence," Vanessa remarked.

"Yeah," Maria agreed, feeling stupid because she didn't even know what that word meant. "Anyway, what I'm saying is, I don't _agree_ with what Michael did, and obviously I wish he hadn't done it in front of Dylan. But I don't know if he's ever gotten over that night. I mean, he _hates_ Max, and he doesn't understand that he's different now. I mean, we haven't kept in touch. He doesn't know . . ."

"Right," Vanessa said, nodding. "Well, listen, Maria . . ."

She couldn't help but interrupt. "I mean, I just . . . I think when he saw Max with Dylan, it just set him off. You know?"

Vanessa stopped nodding and looked at her skeptically. "It almost sounds like you're defending him," she remarked.

"No," Maria clarified. "I just . . ." She was having problems finding the right words to convey to this woman that she didn't want Michael to lose his job. So she just blurted that out instead of beating around the bush. "Don't fire him," she pleaded.

"He doesn't work here," Vanessa reminded her, "so technically he's not fired. He's just gonna have to do his practicum a different semester at a different school with a different counselor, because I expect more from anyone who's under my tutelage."

"I understand that," Maria said, "and I know there's no excuse for his actions, but . . ." She shrugged sympathetically. "There _is_ an explanation."

"There is," Vanessa agreed warily, "but I can't overlook what he did. It was completely unprofessional, and there's no way he can remain at this school. I think that's in his best interest and your family's."

 _Oh god,_ Maria thought reluctantly. _It is, isn't it?_ Not having Michael around that school, running into Dylan, not having him there whenever Max stopped by to pick Dylan him . . . it really would be easier. She hated that it was coming at the expense of his education, but . . . there was nothing she could do. Clearly Vanessa had made up her mind and wasn't changing it anytime soon.

"Well, whatever you think is for the best, I'm sure it is," Maria said softly, forcing a small smile. She'd tried, but chances were, Michael wouldn't even acknowledge that.

...

Some things never changed. Dylan's resistance to falling asleep at night was one of them. Sometimes he was still wide awake at nearly 10:00, and getting him to nod off usually involved reading him several bedtime stories and cuddling with him for a while until he talked himself into a state of tiredness.

Usually he just talked about school. Things they did at school, kids at school. Stuff like that. Usually.

"Hey, Mom?" he said quietly, just as Maria was sure he was about to hit his internal snooze button.

"Yeah?" She tried not to sound impatient, but she was exhausted and wanted to go to bed, too. Today had been emotionally draining.

He blinked his eyes several times to keep them open, then frowned confusedly and squeaked out his question. "Is Micho my dad again?"

Hearing him say that was . . . heartbreaking. It made her feel judgmental of herself, because she knew she'd screwed up over the years. Rotating Michael in and out of Dylan's life, never fully bothering to explain it because she assumed he was too young to understand . . . clearly he didn't know how to perceive recent developments, and who could blame him?

"No," she replied calmly. "Your dad is your dad."

As if just to make sure, he asked, "Max?"

"Yeah. Max." Only recently had Dylan stopped calling him that and started calling him _Dad_ instead. It had been a process for him to come to think of Max that way, not because of what had happened two years ago—he thankfully still didn't remember any of that. But just because it was a transition for him, forgetting about Michael, accepting Max into his life to take over that role. Max knew his relationship with Dylan was a work in progress, but it would have broken his heart to hear Dylan ask that.

Dylan wasn't done with his questions, though. He yawned adorably before inquiring, "Then what's Micho?"

Maria tried to answer, but she didn't have an answer. She didn't have the words to say, let alone the words that he could understand. So she just sat next to his bed without saying a word, watching him close his eyes despite his best efforts not to. _Good,_ she thought. If he finally fell asleep, then she wouldn't have to answer the question at all.

...

The phone was ringing. Volume was on low, but just loud enough for Michael to hear it. It was just the generic ringtone, so part of him was tempted to just ignore it. But when Sarah stirred beside him, he forced himself to reach over and grab it, because he didn't want it to ring so long that it would wake her up.

He sat up and glanced down at the caller ID, squinting against the brightness of the screen. There wasn't a name showing, but a number . . . an all too familiar number. One he used to call incessantly, only to hear an automated voicemail kick on.

Carefully but quickly, he slid out of the bed and walked around the divider into the kitchen. "Hello?" he answered quietly, bracing himself for the voice he knew he was about to hear.

It took her several seconds, but finally Maria said, "Hey, it's me."

 _It's you,_ he thought, suddenly feeling wide awake. He cast a glance back at Sarah, barely able to make out her sleeping form in the dark. But she hadn't moved, so the phone call hadn't woken her up.

"What's up?" he said to Maria, grimacing right after the words left his mouth. _What's up?_ It'd been years since he'd talked this girl on the phone, and that was what he said? So fucking lame.

"I need to talk to you," she revealed after a moment's hesitation.

He tensed, peering through the darkness at Sarah again, knowing it would be simpler and better to just crawl back into bed with her, spoon up behind her, and fall back asleep. He knew that was what he should do.

Twenty minutes later, after a short four-minute stroll from his apartment, he found himself in the dimly-lit commuter parking lot, where there were only five cars still parked at this hour. Her old Buick was one of them, and she got out when she saw him coming towards her. She was dressed down in jeans and a loose grey sweatshirt, and her hair was up in a messy ponytail. She actually looked like she'd been sleeping, too.

"You know, we could've met somewhere more well-lit," he pointed out. Campus was pretty safe, but still, she was a young girl in an empty parking lot at night. Lots of horror movies started that way.

"I didn't want anyone to see us," she explained, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

He shrugged. "Wouldn't matter if they did. It's not like high school. Nobody cares what anyone else is doin'."

"Yeah, but still . . ." She let her sentence fade, and he didn't push it any farther.

"So what did you wanna talk about?" he asked. Whatever it was must have been weighing pretty heavy on her mind for her to call him in the middle of the night.

She sighed and revealed, "I talked with Dylan's guidance counselor today. She said you were her practicum student."

"Told you. You didn't believe me, huh?"

"I . . . didn't know what to believe," she admitted. "But anyway, I . . . I told her about what happened in the past between you and Max and Dylan."

"You mean . . ." He trailed off, not needing to say anything more than that.

"Yeah."

He studied her curiously, trying to figure out what would motivate her to do something like that. "Why?"

"Because I wanted her to understand where you were coming from," she said, "because I wanted her to reconsider letting you go from your practicum or whatever."

He grunted, still not seeing why she would even care. "Why do you even care about that?"

"Because I—I feel bad," she stammered. "I knew Dylan had seen you at that school 'cause he told me, but I didn't do anything about it 'cause I wanted to believe it was just some weird coincidence. But maybe if I had . . . like maybe if I'd found out why you were there and warned you that Max might be coming to pick Dylan up some days . . . I don't know, maybe you would've never lashed out at him like that."

He thought about it, trying to picture some scenario in which he would see Max for the first time in years and _not_ lash out. And he couldn't. "No, I probably still would've," he told her.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, well, I just feel like I could've handled the whole situation better," she summarized.

"Maria . . ." He actually appreciated that she was even remotely bothered about it. Maybe there was some small smart of her that still gave a damn what happened to him. "It's not your fault," he assured her, not sure _why_ he felt the need to assure her. He just did.

"What's gonna happen to your practicum?" she asked.

He flapped his arms against his sides, trying to act like it was no big deal. But really, it was. At this point, finding an alternative practicum placement was going to be tough. Doing a practicum next semester instead would throw off his whole schedule. He was potentially looking at having to restructure his entire next two years of college. Either that or jam-pack next semester, have absolutely no free-time whatsoever.

"You act like it's not a big deal," she mumbled, tugging her shirt sleeves down below her wrists, "but it is a big deal."

"You're damn right it's a big deal," he agreed, but he was thinking about something else when he said that. Something that was a far, _far_ bigger deal to him, something he wasn't going to walk out of that parking lot without confronting her about. "Why the hell was Max there, huh?" he demanded shrilly. "How could you ever let him back into Dylan's life after _everything_ he's done?"

"Michael . . ." she groaned. "You don't-"

"I don't understand," he cut in, knowing that was what she was going to say. "I don't care. How did this even happen?"

"Not that I owe you an explanation," she made a point of saying, "but a little over a year ago, he walked into a restaurant where I was waitressing. I wouldn't give him the time of day, naturally, but he was persistent. And eventually, I got to know him again, and I found out how much he's changed . . ."

Michael snorted at that.

"You don't have to believe it, but it's true. So it's been a process, learning to trust him or even like him again, but . . . it's been fine."

 _Fine,_ he thought. That was quite a bland word, wasn't it? "So you trust him again," he recapped, angered by that fact. "You like him." He made a face as he said the words. _Like?_ As in . . . not love? So maybe it wasn't a romantic thing?

"He's become a really good father," Maria said.

 _Better than me?_ he couldn't help but wonder. "So now you guys are . . . what? Co-parenting Dylan?"

"Yes."

"Together?" He didn't know if it was his place to ask, but he asked it anyway, because he had to know. "Are you guys . . . together?"

She let out a shaky exhale, one that made him inexplicably nervous for her answer, then replied, "We're his parents."

He frowned, because . . . that wasn't exactly an answer. " _Just_ his parents?" he tried to clarify.

"Nothing more."

He had to admit . . . for some reason, that made him feel better. Like maybe Max hadn't gotten off scot-free on _every_ single thing he'd done wrong. But still . . . he seemed to have gotten away with plenty, and that pissed him off. "So you forgave him," he remarked.

"Yes."

"Even though you wouldn't forgive me?"

For a second, her eyes glossed over with tears. But just for a second, and then they were gone, even though she still looked sad. "Michael . . ." she whimpered. "I really don't wanna launch into this whole long conversation. I just wanted to come by and . . . you know, say I'm sorry for the way things went down with your practicum."

 _I'm sorry for the way things went down on that bridge,_ he thought, but there was no point in saying it. He'd said it all before.

"And that's it," she finished. "That has to be it. Okay, don't sit next to me in class on Thursday. It's not a good idea."

He frowned, somehow unable to completely agree with her even though he felt like he _should_ agree with her. But honestly, what was the point of even going to that class if he wasn't going to sit next to her?

"I have to go," she announced, opening her car door again.

"What else is new?" he mumbled, not loud enough for her to hear. He stood back and watched her climb into the driver's seat, start up the car, and flip on the headlights. And just like she had years ago, she drove off. But there was no need to make a feeble attempt at running after the car last time. All he had to do was stand and watch it go.

He stayed in that parking lot longer than he needed to, until at least a minute after she was gone. And then, when he was ready, he turned and headed back in the direction of his apartment, where Sarah was hopefully still fast asleep. It was time to go back to the good life.

...

It was 3:30 when Maria arrived back home. That meant that there were only two and a half hours until she had to wake up and start Dylan's breakfast. Two and a half hours for her to try to sleep after the annoying insomnia that had plagued her so far this evening.

Closing the door quietly, she told herself that there was nothing to stay awake and agonize about now. She'd apologized to Michael for the downfall of his practicum, so she'd gotten that off her chest. And that had really been the overall goal, to just let him know that she wasn't out to get him and hadn't _demanded_ Vanessa Whitaker put an end to his experience at Pound.

She kicked off her shoes and whispered, "Shit," when she accidentally dropped her car keys on the floor. She didn't want to wake Max up and have to lie to him about where she'd been.

Bending down, she picked up her keys and rolled them around in the palm of her hand, dazing off, thinking about what Michael had said in that parking lot, and the _way_ he'd said it. Almost as if he felt betrayed or something. But she'd meant everything she'd said about Max, about how he'd changed and how it'd been a process to accept the fact that he'd changed. She didn't expect him to understand that, maybe not ever, because at the time, she'd had a hard time understanding it herself.

...

 _Maria put on her friendliest smile as she slid the pizza tray towards the center of the table._

" _Looks great," one of the customers raved._

" _It does," Maria agreed, although truthfully, four months of working at Pizza Hut had caused her to detest both the sight and the smell of greasy pizza. Maybe once she no longer worked there, she'd be able to eat it again, but for now, she'd lost her appetite for it._

" _Alright, you guys enjoy," she told the family at the table. "Let me know if you need anything."_

" _Will do. Thank you."_

 _She backed away from the table, getting a kick out of the way the little boy practically flung his whole body across his dad's so that he could score the biggest slice. Waiting on people like this wasn't actually all that bad. They were nice and entertaining._

 _When she spun around, she collided with a man, her face hitting his shoulder. "Oh! Sorry . . ." She froze, mortified, when she got a look at his face. His all too familiar face._

 _Max._

" _Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," she groaned in distress, giving him a little shove as she made her way in the opposite direction. Maybe if she looked busy enough and started cleaning some tables, he'd figure she was boring and leave her alone._

 _Fat chance, though. She knew better than that._

 _She tried to focus on stacking up a bunch of plates from the birthday party group that had just left, but her hands were shaky, and the pile of plates kept wobbling. If she tried to carry them, she'd surely end up dropping some, and she didn't want to give Max Evans the satisfaction of seeing her get nervous._

 _Even with her back to him, she could feel him shuffling towards her. His douchiness was intruding on her own personal bubble._

" _I just wanna talk to you," he said calmly._

 _She gripped a nearly empty soda glass so hard, she thought her fingers were going to shatter it. "Never gonna happen," she grumbled, precariously putting that glass and four others on top of the plate pile._

" _Please," he begged._

 _She couldn't even look at him, because if she did, she'd probably end up slapping him or screaming at him or just causing a scene in general. And when scenes were caused, she got fired. She knew that firsthand._

" _Leave me alone," she mumbled determinedly, forgetting about the messy table. She literally fled without even giving him a second glance, and she ducked into the ladies restroom, figuring he at least couldn't follow her there. Locking the door into place, she gasped as she tried to catch her breath. It didn't matter how strong of tough she tried to act; seeing Max rattled her. And it was probably obvious._

 _The point of moving to a huge city like Houston had been to just blend in, be one of millions instead of thousands, and not be so findable. It had been almost a year since she'd left Roswell, and she had to admit, she'd lulled herself into a false sense of security, thinking that it was all over, that she'd never have to deal with Max again. But she should have known better._

 _She'd been in that restroom for about three minutes, trying to work up the courage to head back out into the restaurant and confront Max if he was indeed still lingering around; but all of a sudden, she heard the whisper of a piece of paper as it slid underneath the door. It was one of the papers they give little kids to keep them occupied while they waited for their food to get done, full of mazes and games and pictures to color._

What the hell? _she thought, bending down to pick it up. When she looked at it closer, she noticed something scrawled on the top right corner, in handwriting she didn't quite recognize but somehow suspected to be Max's._

I'm not no one anymore, _it read. And that was it. No threat, no plea to forgive him, no jerky comment of any kind. Just that one simple, bold claim._

 _She didn't believe it for a second, but she did allow herself to ponder if it could possibly be true._

...

Sinking onto the mattress, Maria hoped for a feeling of calm and relaxation to wash over her. But she still felt tense and way too awake to fall asleep. She rolled over onto her side, shutting her eyes, hoping that sleep would just overcome her, but when she felt the other side of the bed move, she opened her eyes again, knowing Max wasn't sound asleep, either.

"Were you awake?" he asked quietly.

 _Still am,_ she thought. "Yeah. I was just in the living room watching some TV." No way was she telling him where she'd really been. Then they'd _both_ end up having a sleepless night.

He shifted onto his side, curling up behind her, and slipped his arm around her stomach, holding her close. Kissing the side of her neck, he murmured, "Get some sleep," as he settled in again.

 _That's not likely,_ she wanted to say. Chances were, by the time her alarm went off at 6:00, she'd already be out of bed.

She put her hand on top of Max's, gently interlacing her fingers with his. It was a good thing Michael couldn't see her right now. It hadn't been her intention to lie to him tonight, but in the moment, when he'd asked her about her and Max, it had just seemed . . . necessary. Because the truth was something he couldn't handle. The truth would only hurt him more.

...

When Vanessa asked Michael to drop by the school, he figured it was just to put a formal end to their arrangement. There were papers she had to sign, after all, to terminate their practicum agreement. But when he handed them to her, she laid them flat on her desk and just looked at them contemplatively. She picked up her pen a few times, poised it on the signature line, but then never wrote her name. He watched her do this a few times, then came right out and asked, "What's stopping you?"

Sighing, she set her pen down. "I thought he just said something to you that upset you," she admitted. "I thought that's why you hit Max Evans the other day. I thought you were being immature and reckless, which you were, but . . ." She sighed again, as though the decision of whether or not to sign these termination papers was weighing heavily on her. "I didn't know the full story until Maria told me."

Michael grunted. "Yeah, well . . . not even Maria can tell you the full story. She wasn't there when it happened."

"It sounds . . . awful," Vanessa empathized. "Terrifying. And I know you must have really cared about Dylan to risk your life for his."

Jumping off that bridge hadn't even been a tough decision, though. There was a reason why he hadn't hesitated and never would. He loved that little boy. That would never change.

"There were most definitely circumstances that led to what you did," Vanessa acknowledged, "and they were _very_ extenuated."

 _Holy shit,_ he thought, starting to feel hopeful for a minute. _Is she gonna give me another shot?_

"But Michael . . . this is a school. We work with children. It's our responsibility to rise above our differences and our disagreements in order to set a good example for them. And lashing out at Dylan's father the way you did, right in front of Dylan himself . . . that's inexcusable."

"I know," he admitted shamefully. "I'm sorry." He didn't regret socking Max, but he _did_ regret doing it in front of Dylan.

"You have to be able to control yourself," she lectured. "You _will_ see Max Evans around here. He picks Dylan up after school sometimes. He swings by and has lunch with him once in a while. He's even volunteered to coach the kindergarten basketball team this winter."

Michael made a face. "Really?" What the hell had happened to this guy? This wasn't just someone who had changed; this was a fuckin' lobotomy.

"From what I've seen so far this year, he's a good father," Vanessa said. "And I know it doesn't thrill you to hear that, but . . ."

"No, it's fine," Michael cut in. Honestly, that was a relief, because the thought of Dylan under the care of someone who was still a _bad_ father was unbearable.

"I don't know the specifics of your history with Max and Maria and Dylan," Vanessa went on, "but I don't care. If you wanna stay here and continue your practicum, if you wanna learn from me and be a part of this school, you have to conduct yourself with the utmost professionalism at _all_ times. Do you understand?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, intimidated but pretty damn grateful at the same time. "I understand."

"I'm sticking my neck out on the line for you," she warned, "so you need to understand, if you wanna salvage a recommendation out of this experience, you will meet _or_ exceed my expectations every single second of every single day. If there is ever a day where you fail to do this, I have no problem signing these termination papers. So don't just get here on time; get here half an hour early. Leave half an hour late. Do extra work even when there's no work to be done. Go above and beyond. Make an impact on students rather than on Max Evans' face. Are we clear?"

After all of that . . . there was really no way it could be unclear anymore. "Yes."

"I can't believe I'm even doing this," she grumbled, picking up the termination papers. She took one last look at them, then tore them in half down the middle and dropped them into the trash can next to her desk.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, "Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me," she said. "Thank the person who changed my mind."

He smiled a little, thinking he might have to do just that. "Yeah, Maria can be pretty persuasive, huh?"

"No, not Maria."

He frowned. If not her, then . . . who else?

"Max came in and talked to me, right before you showed up," she revealed. "He said I should give you a second chance."

Michael's frown intensified as he struggled to picture it, let alone make sense of it. "Max?" What the hell was he trying to pull? That guy didn't do anything without an ulterior motive. It didn't make any fucking sense.

Vanessa didn't want him to stick around that day, probably because he'd shown up in jeans and a t-shirt and wouldn't look professional in any of their afternoon meetings. So that meant, as timing would have it, he left right around the time lunch was getting over. When he got out into the parking lot, he saw Max there, strolling towards the back lane.

"Had lunch with Dylan, huh?" Michael called, catching up to him.

Max stopped and slowly turned around. "Not sure if any of that plastic food they serve qualifies as lunch, but yeah," he replied. "I try to do that every other week."

Michael narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, studying him, trying to figure out what his deal was. His car looked like a piece of junk, and he was wearing a shirt that said _Cooper Construction_ across the front. It was like he was trying to project this blue-collar image nowadays. It was weird. The whole thing was weird.

"So do you get to stay?" Max asked him.

"Yeah." Michael was still way too proud to offer up any sort of gratitude, though, so he skipped straight to asking the obvious question. "Why the hell would you stick up for me?"

Max smirked and shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because you hate me. I hate you. That's the way it works."

"I don't hate you," Max corrected. "Actually, I have no ill will towards you at all. I can understand why you let me have it when you saw me. Last time we crossed paths, I was high and pissed, and I put Dylan in danger. It's natural for you to assume I hadn't changed."

"But you have, huh? I mean, that's what everyone's saying." Michael wasn't about to just fall for that, though. He still had his doubts.

"I _have_ changed," Max insisted. "Haven't you?"

 _A lot,_ Michael thought, but saying that would be allowing Max to make his point.

"I mean, are you the same guy you were two years ago on that bridge?" Max went on. "I highly doubt it."

"Fine, so you're Saint Max now," Michael spat out. "Give me a break. You didn't talk to Vanessa out of the goodness of your heart. You had a reason."

"You're right, I did," Max acknowledged. "See, that night, when Dylan fell . . . you jumped in after him. You got him out of the water. You saved my son's life. So I figured the least I could do was save your practicum."

Michael stood there like an idiot, dumbfounded. Admittedly, out of all of Max's possible motives . . . he'd never entertained the idea that this would be the one. "So that's it?" he said, expecting more. "You're just returning the favor?"

"As much as I ever can," Max said. "So now we're even."

 _Shit,_ Michael thought, biting his tongue to keep from saying something . . . unprofessional. Instead, he let Max get into his car, and he backtracked through the lot to find his own. _Dammit._ This sucked. Maybe Maria and Vanessa were telling the truth. Maybe the school lunches and blue collar look weren't a lie. Maybe Max Evans had changed as much in two years as he himself had.

 _Fuck._ Michael resented the thought. As jealous and ridiculous as it made him seem, he didn't want Max to ever be someone, and he didn't want his life to be going somewhere.


	14. Chapter 14

It was barely 10:00 that night, and already, Michael found himself exhausted, falling asleep on the couch. He leaned back on the middle cushion, his right arm dangling halfway over his face and off the back. Even though the bed was only steps away, he seriously felt like he could fall asleep right there.

Sarah sat down next to him, snuggling up to his side, and he lowered his arm to put it around her. She wasn't wearing any sexy lingerie tonight, just white drawstring shorts and a pink tank top she commonly wore to bed. Her hair was damp and smelled like that floral shampoo she used.

"I'm tired," he told her.

"I never would've guessed," she joked.

He laughed lightly, keeping his eyes closed as sleep kept tugging at him. Chances were, she'd fall asleep right along with him. They woke up on this couch together frequently in the middle of the night. When he was the only one to wake up, he'd carry her to the bed and sleep the rest of the night with her there.

"So that's good news about your practicum," she said quietly.

That one word made his eyes open. "Yeah, it is," he agreed. When he'd gotten home, he'd tried to downplay the whole thing by telling her that Vanessa had simply changed her mind and decided to give him another chance. But she'd been mentioning it off and on all night.

Sarah cuddled with him in comfortable silence for a few seconds, but then, as if something was bothering her, she moved back a bit and sat up straighter. Looking closely at him, she softly asked, "Michael, are you okay?"

Just the fact that she even asked that made him feel guilty. "Yeah," he answered plainly. "Why?"

"Because . . ." She smiled shakily. "Lately, you just haven't seemed like yourself. You're punching people in the face and getting hit by cars. I'm kinda worried about you."

 _Of course you are,_ he thought. Sarah was the kind of girl to think about others more than she thought about herself. It was natural for her to sense that something was off and be concerned about it.

"I'm fine," he assured her, and really, it was true. Now that he had his practicum back, he had this whole Maria/Dylan/Max situation under control. His life was still his life, and everything was fine.

"I know it's been hard," she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek, "trying to keep on like normal when there's this crazy stuff going on with your sister."

 _Tina._ God, he felt like a fucking jerk for pushing that to the back of his mind lately. But he couldn't deal with the stress of that situation while he was trying to handle everything else. "I just need to focus," he said, parroting what adults had told him all throughout high school.

"Yeah," she agreed, "on school and your job and stuff."

She wasn't selfish enough to include herself in that, so he did it for her. "And you." He waited until he saw a small but happy smile, and then he leaned in and gave her a kiss. She wasn't the kind of girlfriend who craved or demanded attention, but she sure as hell deserved more attention than he'd given her as of late.

...

The sweet, delicious smell of pastries wafted into Isabel's nose from the moment she entered Liz's bakery. How was it possible to work there day in and day out without getting fat? Everything smelled so damn good.

"Hey, Liz," she greeted uber-cheerfully, hoping to put herself in a good mood today. Jesse had been grumpy this morning, and she was determined not to let it rub off on her.

Liz was carefully and diligently placing multi-colored sprinkles on top of a white-frosted doughnut, but she did glance up from that task briefly. "Isabel," she said with noticeable less cheerfulness. "Long time no see."

"Yeah." Isabel smoothed her hand over the glass countertop and looked around, not recognizing much of anything. There were a bunch of old clocks and paintings on the brick walls that she couldn't recall seeing before, and there were more tables than she remembered, too.

"You know, I'm not officially open yet," Liz commented, but Isabel barely even heard her.

"I love what you've done with the place," she raved. Overall, the vibe was nice. It sort of looked more like a coffee shop than a pastry shop, which was nice. It felt relaxing and chill. "It looks different than I remember it."

"I don't know why. I haven't really redecorated." Liz finished up with the sprinkles of the last donut and then slid a whole tray of them onto an empty shelf beneath the counter.

"Hmm. I guess I haven't been here for a while," Isabel acknowledged. "What have you been up to?"

"Oh, you know . . ." Liz shrugged. "Work, motherhood. I'm taking a business class now, too."

"Huh." Isabel had to admit . . . she was surprised. Not because Liz wasn't driven or capable, but just because . . . well, she'd survived young single motherhood, come out of it relatively unscathed.

"What about you?" Liz asked.

"Oh, same old stuff, you know? Classes, boyfriend . . . porn."

Liz looked down, almost as if she were disappointed, and just mumbled, "Right, of course."

"Anyway, I just thought I'd stop in."

"Sure." As if the porn tidbit had pushed things too far, Liz shifted into professional mode and inquired, "What can I get for you?"

Isabel smiled hopefully. "Scarlet." It had been way too long since she'd seen or gotten to hold her niece.

"Um, I don't actually sell her here. But maybe . . ." Liz opened up a paper sack for Isabel and let her see the delicious treat inside. "Bear claw? They're Alex's favorite."

Isabel pushed aside the momentary resentment that Liz and Alex were still close enough for her to know what his favorite doughnut was and forced a smile instead. "I'll bring it to him then," she decided, taking the sack from Liz. "I have his class today."

"Ah."

"Yeah." A few seconds of awkward silence settled in, and Isabel couldn't help but ask, "So Scarlet's not here?"

"No, she's at daycare today," Liz replied.

Isabel pouted. "Darn. I know it's been a while. I just don't want her to forget her Aunt Isabel, you know?" It was bad enough that everyone else already had. "I mean, I don't ever get to see Dylan, so maybe with Scarlet it can be different."

Now it was Liz's turn to frown. "Well, don't you get to see him more now that Max moved back?"

It was such a casual question, but it wasn't one Isabel had been anticipating at all. "What?" she said. "What do you mean?" Last she'd heard from Max, he was still in Texas. If he'd moved back to New Mexico . . . surely he would have told her.

"Oh, um . . ." Liz's voice got really quiet then, almost as if she didn't want to be the one to have to tell Isabel anything. "Max came to Carlsbad at the end of the summer. With Maria and Dylan."

Isabel's eyes bulged in disbelief. With _Maria_ and Dylan?

"I thought you knew," Liz said softly.

Isabel pressed her lips tightly together and mumbled, "No, I didn't," averting her eyes in embarrassment. If she and Max were living in the same town and he hadn't even bothered to make contact with her, that probably meant he wanted nothing to do with her. And that hurt her feelings.

...

In the midst of unpacking groceries, Max heard a knock on the front door. Probably the cable guy again. They kept having problems with their satellite dish, and he kept coming out to the house to work on it, but he never actually fixed it. It was all pretty annoying at this point.

Max left the grocery sack half unpacked on the counter, though, and went to answer the door anyway; but much to his surprise, it wasn't the cable guy standing on the other side. Far from it. Isabel stood there, looking annoyed in her own right.

"Well, well," she said, "look who it is. My big brother, former resident of the Lone Star state, current resident of the Land of Enchantment. Who knew?" She huffed. "I sure didn't."

"Sorry," he apologized quickly, figuring it was the easiest way to deflect her anger. "I meant to call you once we got settled in."

"Which was months ago, end of July," she stated accurately. "At least that's what Liz told me. She also gave me your address since I was still under the assumption your address would have a TX in it."

He sighed, sensing that she was more than a little pissed. Hoping to dissolve some of that, he stepped to the side and motioned for her to come in, which she eagerly did.

"So," she said, looking around, "this is your house."

"Yep." It wasn't anything like what they'd grown up in, but it was nice enough. All one story, just two bedrooms. Just big enough for him and his family.

"It's nice," she said, but that was _all_ she said about the house. And then she was glaring at him accusatorily again. "So let me get this straight," she said. "You keep in contact with Mom, with Liz, but not with me?" She made a face. "What gives, Max?"

"Nothing. It's just . . ." He didn't know how to phrase it so it wouldn't piss her off even more, but he had plenty of valid reasons for keeping her at a distance these past two years. "Your lifestyle, everything you do . . . it doesn't mesh with my lifestyle anymore. I can't be around any negative influences." He'd worked too hard to turn his life around to let it be derailed by anyone, including her.

"And you think _I'm_ a negative influence?" She laughed at that. "Seriously? I'm not the one here who's a drug addict."

"Neither am I," he declared proudly. "Not anymore."

"Okay, and good for you," she said. "You turned your life around. But I'm not a complete train wreck. I'm not gonna mess everything up for you."

"I know, but still . . ." He headed back into the kitchen, keeping his back to her when he said, "I've got Dylan to think about now."

She followed him, not letting up. "Oh, so _that's_ who you don't want me to be around. Because you think I'm a big whore or something."

"Isabel . . ." He spun back around, growing frustrated with her. Sure, she was his sister, and he loved her because of that fact. But they'd spent the better part of their lives separated from one another, and that was probably for the best. He had his issues, and she had her own, but he was working to overcome his while she was basking in hers. He wasn't going to have Dylan anywhere near that.

"Forget it," she dismissed. "I don't wanna fight. I'm glad you're in Carlsbad, Max. I've missed you." Even though it was totally out of place given how the conversation between them had started, she smiled and got close enough to him to hug him. He hugged her back unsurely, relieved when she took a couple steps back and let him go.

"So . . ." she said. "Are you taking classes?"

"No, just working."

"As a lawyer?"

He gave her a look. Did it look like he was working as a lawyer? A lawyer would have a nicer house, nicer clothes, nicer everything. "No, as a painter," he replied.

Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Like an artist?"

"No, like a . . . house-painter." Nothing exciting or glamorous about it, especially because he painted fences once in a while, too. But for whatever reason, Maria seemed to hate his construction job more than his painting one.

"Oh." Isabel looked down at his jeans, probably starting to notice the paint stains there now. "Not exactly the career path I would've pictured for you."

"Yeah, well . . . I could say the same." He had to be careful about what he searched for online these days, because he didn't want to accidentally stumble across one of her 'films.'

"I'm still gonna be a writer," Isabel insisted. "I'm taking classes."

"Good for you." He'd believe it only when he saw it, though. At this point, Isabel was pretty well entrenched in the pornography industry. No one would be able to take her seriously as a writer after this.

"Yeah, things are going pretty well," she bragged. "Jesse and I are still together, and we share a pretty nice house with our friends."

"Yeah? What about Mom?" he asked. "You ever talk to her?"

A flash of sadness zoomed onto Isabel's face. "No," she said. "She doesn't . . . we don't talk anymore. And she's basically gotten our entire family to shun me. She just can't get over . . . everything I'm doing."

 _Any reason why she should?_ he wanted to ask, but he held back.

"Some people just can't forgive and forget," she said, obviously trying to conceal just how bothered she was by it. "But from what I hear . . . Maria DeLuca sure can."

Max sighed and rolled his eyes. Just how much about his life had Liz spilled to her?

Isabel grinned leaning back against the counter. "How'd you do it, Max? How'd you get back in her good graces?"

He shrugged. "Lots of hard work."

"Right. Rehab."

It bothered him that she made it sound so simple, because it wasn't simple. Rehab had only been the start of it. "Once I got my life back on track, I met up with her in Houston, told her I wanted to be a part of Dylan's life."

"And so she just welcomed you back into her life with open . . ." Isabel looked down into the grocery sack and raised an eyebrow as she took out the box of condoms he'd purchased today. "Legs?"

He reached out and seized that box from her. It was none of her business.

"Wow," she said, laughing. "I can't believe you're with her again."

"Listen, I know she might not be your favorite person . . ."

"Understatement."

"But she's Dylan's mom. And things are going well between us. I get to be with her and be a father to Dylan, and I still get to be a father to Scarlet, especially now that I live here. So don't try to screw it up."

"Max!" she scolded. "What makes you think I wanna screw anything up for you? You're my brother."

"Yeah, but I'm not the same brother I was two years ago."

"No," she agreed. "You seem way more . . . judgmental. And uptight."

"Because I have to be," he explained. "I can't slip up; I can't ever stop trying. Because I'm not gonna be the guy I used to be, Isabel. I refuse." He didn't even like remembering that guy, remembering what he'd done. It felt like a different life. Like a nightmare.

"Funny," Isabel said, looking wistful when she revealed, "sometimes I _wish_ I could be the girl I used to be."

It was a moment of honesty, one that he appreciated. But just like that, it was gone, and she was turning the conversation back onto him and away from herself.

"So," she said, "I assume you didn't know Michael Guerin was a college student in this town when you moved here."

"Nope," he admitted, reaching past her to put the condoms back in the paper sack, "but I found out soon enough. Turns out he's doing a guidance practicum at Dylan's school."

"What?" She laughed. "Oh my god, small world."

"Yeah. He ran into me there, and then his fist ran into my face."

"Priceless."

"But it's fine now." If it was just a practicum, it would be over in a few months anyway. No big deal.

"Are you sure?" she challenged. "Michael and Maria reunited. All aboard the pain train."

"No, it's not like that," he insisted. "They haven't even seen each other." And for that much, he had to admit, he was relieved.

"Well, I hope you're right," she said. "Let's not forget, the last time they got together, they ruined everybody's lives in the process."

He narrowed his eyes at her, feeling the need to jump to Maria's defense and end Isabel's pity party before it started. "The only life that's ruined is yours, Isabel," he said, not caring how harsh it sounded. It was true. "Everyone else is doin' just fine."

The smirk that had resided on her face faded rapidly, replaced by that persistent look of sadness. But he didn't mind if he'd just made her feel bad. In fact, he was glad he had. Because seeing some genuine emotions out of his sister was a lot better than only seeing the fake ones.

...

Music by decade seemed to be the trend in Music Appreciation class. Unfortunately for Michael, instead of entering the class when it was time to appreciate something awesome like the sixties or the nineties, he entered the class during the unit focused on the twenties. _Lots_ of jazz, which meant lots of crap he didn't give two shits about. It _was_ kind of cool, though, to watch old Charleston videos and see the hot flapper girls.

In the end, though, none of it could hold his interest. There he was in the back of the classroom, upholding his promise to Maria by not sitting next to her. She, meanwhile, had returned to the front row, putting in a much better effort at being attentive than he was. He watched her gradually become more and more distracted, though, and eventually, she was no longer paying attention, either. He saw that she was doodling musical notes and stars in her notebook, and that made him think back to when he used to sit in his high school classes and draw pictures of her to pass the time.

Once class was over, she made a hasty exit, so he gathered up his stuff quickly so he could follow her. He practically had to run down the hall, but he managed to catch up with her on the steps leading out of the building. "Maria!"

She whirled around, sending her blonde hair flying back over her shoulder. Managing a small smile, she said, "Thanks for not sitting by me today."

"Yeah, sure." He walked down the steps with her, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders, subconsciously glancing around to make sure he didn't see anyone he knew. Not that it really mattered a whole lot; this wasn't like high school where someone would see the two of them together and post the picture on Twitter to spread the gossip like wildfire. He knew people, but not that many people. No one here cared what he was up to.

"So were you as surprised as I was about what Max did?" he asked, following her, even though she was headed the opposite direction of where he needed to go now that this class was done.

Eyebrows furrowed, she asked, "What do you mean?"

It dawned on him in that instant that she had _no_ idea what he was talking about, and he had to admit . . . he sort of loved that. Maybe this new and reformed Max wasn't quite so forthcoming after all. "You know, he talked to Vanessa Whitaker, convinced her to let me keep doing my practicum at Pound."

Maria completely stopped walking and looked up at him incredulously. " _What?_ "

"Yeah." He had to bite back a grin. Maybe it was wrong of him to hope that this started a fight between them, but . . . what the hell? He hoped.

"Uh, no offense," she said, "but why would he do that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I was surprised, too. When I asked him-"

"Wait," she cut in abruptly, "you _talked_ to him about this?"

"Yeah, yesterday. He said he owed me for . . . you know." He didn't like to say it out loud.

"Dylan?" she surmised.

"Yeah."

She sighed heavily, looking confused and flustered. "Sorry," she apologized, "I don't mean to . . ." She paused for a moment. "It's not that I'm not glad for you. It's just . . ."

"Weird," he filled in. "I know." He was still trying to comprehend the weirdness of . . . all of this.

"I have to go," she decided suddenly. Without so much as a goodbye stepped past him and started walking away at a brisk pace. _Probably wants to call Max,_ he thought bitterly.

"Hey!" he called, not ready to let her leave just yet.

She reluctantly stopped and turned back around again, an impatient look on her face.

He just stared at her for a few long seconds, not sure what he intended to say. So he settled for just blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "I have a girlfriend," he informed her bluntly. "Two years now." That didn't get any response out of her, so he tried to rub a little salt in the wound. "I'm in love with her, so . . ." For some reason, it felt really important for her to know that.

But even all that garnered was a slight raise of her eyebrows, like she was surprised but not devastated. No words. No tears. Nothing else. She just kept looking at him for a few seconds, and then she lowered her head, tucked her hair behind her ear, turned back around, and continued on her way.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and let himself lose track of her in the crowd of students making their way to and from class all around him, trying not to feel too disappointed that his big reveal hadn't gotten a stronger reaction.

...

 _Oh god, this day . . ._ Maria thought in agitation as she walked in the front door of her house. It couldn't get over with fast enough. Little things were just setting her off. She'd had an interview around noon and had probably totally bombed it, because her bad attitude had to have been obvious.

Max had the day off, and he didn't appear to have spent it very productively. There were a lot of unwashed dishes in the sink, and instead of doing them, he was sitting on the couch with his computer on his lap, watching a basketball montage on Youtube.

"Hey," he said, immediately closing the computer and setting it aside when he saw her.

"Hey," she returned, dropping her purse to the ground. She slipped off her shoes and raked her hands through her hair, groaning. It hadn't been a particularly bad day, she supposed. Just enough to not be a good one.

Max got up off the couch and crossed over into the kitchen, headed straight for the sink. "So you'll never guess who stopped by today," he said, putting the stopper in before he turned on the water.

"Who?" If Michael's name passed over his lips, she was going to freak out. The thought of them having one conversation, let alone two, was just too weird.

"Isabel."

Her eyes bulged, because that wasn't much better. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

Struggling to formulate any coherent thoughts, she could only manage to sputter out, "Why?"

Max shrugged and squirted some blue dish soap into the rising water. "Guess she just wanted to say hi."

"Wait." Maria rubbed her forehead, trying to make sense of it. "I thought she moved back to Roswell after she dropped out of Princeton.""

"She did." Lowering his voice, he added, "Until she enrolled in college here last semester."

"Oh my god," she growled, hating the thought of it. Isabel Evans wasn't exactly her biggest fan. Their relationship had always been hostile, so having some distance in between them had been nice. "First Michael, now Isabel. You know, I'm starting to feel like I never even left Roswell. I mean, what was the point of any of it if we were all just gonna end up here?" she ranted.

"I don't know," Max mumbled, watching the sink fill up. When the water was high enough, he shut it off, then looked back at her, asking, "You okay?"

"No," she admitted, hating how whiny she sounded, "I'm not okay. I don't get it, Max. I mean, Isabel stops by and you pretty much have to talk to her. Fine, whatever. But why would you make it your mission to make sure Michael keeps his practicum?"

"You found out about that, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Did Whitaker tell you?"

 _Oh, crap._ She realized she'd said too much, because she couldn't exactly tell him that Michael had told her himself. "Yes," she said, wondering if it was _technically_ a lie. Because she'd stopped by the school after lunch to talk to Vanessa about it, just to verify that Michael was telling her the truth. And Vanessa had confirmed everything.

"I just figured I should . . . do him a favor," Max explained with a shrug. "God knows he did a pretty damn big one for me."

She sighed, recognizing the familiar signs of shame in his eyes, his posture, all over his face. "Dylan," she said softly.

"Yeah." He couldn't even look at her. He never could when they talked about that night.

"Look, Max . . ." She took a few steps toward him, grabbing the dishtowel off the oven handle so she could help him dry that mountain of dishes once he started washing. "I know your intentions with this were good, but I don't want you to feel like you were obligated. I mean, don't you think things are already weird enough without confusing our son?"

Max made a face. "What's there to be confused about? Michael's just working at his school. He's not gonna be around him all the time again."

"I know. It's just . . ." She hesitated for a few seconds, trying to oh-so-delicately phrase both her concerns and her assurances. "I want you to be comfortable, you know? I want you to know that nothing's gonna change."

"I know that," he said confidently. "The past is the past. It doesn't have to be the present. Or the future. That's why I got him his practicum back. Because it was the right thing to do, and I'm at a place in my life where I finally know something about doing the right thing." Slowly, the slightest of grins found its way to his face. "Remember?"

Yeah. She remembered.

...

 _Maria was on edge. Completely and totally on edge. She had never pictured herself going out to eat with Max Evans_ ever _again. They had gone out maybe once or twice back when they'd dated, mostly to places like Subway or Burger Hut. Never a nice restaurant like this, though._

 _Though she hadn't allowed him to drive her for fear that he would think it was a date, she had agreed to meet him at Antica Osteria, an Italian restaurant she'd wanted to try ever since arriving in Houston. Of course he had picked an Italian place. It was her favorite kind of food. The only thing that surprised her was that he actually knew that._

 _The more she looked around, the more uneasy she felt. The atmosphere was a little too cozy and romantic. Their table was in a dimly lit lodge-style room with a roaring fireplace on one wall. Max had ordered some white wine, which he hadn't taken a sip of, and their fettucine alfredo and ravioli were on their way. Her plan was to eat fast and get out of there and not be swayed by anything he had to say._

" _I don't know if it was the right thing for me to come here," she confessed, watching a sweet elderly couple at the nearest table caressing each other's hands atop the table. The clientele here definitely skewed a little older, but they were very sweet._

" _It was," Max assured her._

 _She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Since when do you know anything about what's right?"_

" _Since rehab."_

" _Hmm." She reached to the middle of the table and took a warm breadstick out of the basket, breaking it in half. "And that just fixed all your problems?"_

" _No," he admitted. "But it gave me a good place to start."_

 _For his sake . . . she hoped that was true._

 _Setting one half of the breadstick down on her appetizer plate, she took a bite of the other, savoring the taste. This wasn't the most expensive restaurant in Houston by any means, but Max had promised her that the food was good. Food like moms make, he claimed, except her mom had usually made lasagna out of a box._

" _So how long have you been clean?" she inquired, already prepared to doubt his answer._

 _He took a sip of water and replied, "Ever since that night."_

"That _night?"_

" _You know the one," he mumbled._

 _That was actually a pretty long time . . . if he was telling the truth. Almost a year. "You almost got Dylan killed that night," she reminded him. "You_ and _Michael."_

" _It was more my fault than it was his."_

 _Too on edge to be hungry, she put the rest of the breadstick down on her plate, grunting exasperatedly. "God, do you have, like, a script you're reading off? Because you're saying all the right things, but do you really expect me to believe any of it?"_

 _He shook his head, seeming completely unoffended and not at all caught off-guard by her skepticism. "No. But I'm hoping you will after you get to know me again."_

" _I don't wanna get to know you again," she growled determinedly._

" _Then why'd you come out with me tonight?" he challenged._

" _I figured it was the easiest way to get you off my back. We wine, we dine, we definitely_ don't _sixty-nine; and then when it's all said and done, we never have to see each other again."_

 _He shrugged. "If that's what you want."_

Of course it's what I want, _she thought, but for some reason, she didn't say it. "What do_ you _want, Max?" she demanded. "Are you just trying to absolve your guilt, make yourself feel better?"_

" _No, I just wanna get to know Dylan."_

 _Immediately, she started laughing, but he didn't even crack a smile. "Oh my god, you're serious?" she spat incredulously. "Are you_ delusional? _You haven't exactly been Father of the Year."_

" _So give me the chance," he urged. And it was oddly hilarious, because he sounded totally serious._

" _No," she decided immediately. "Absolutely not."_

" _I couldn't help but notice Dylan doesn't exactly have a father figure anymore."_

Oh, of course, _she thought, trying to disguise her reaction to that._ Of course he brings up Michael. _"That doesn't mean you're gonna step in to fill the void," she told him, not backing down. "I don't care how much you say you've changed."_

" _Maria . . ."_

" _That doesn't erase the past."_

" _Maria, please."_

" _I can't just forget everything that happened. And how do I know you're not lying anyway?"_

"Maria. _" He said her name with so much force, so much directness, that it got her to shut up. And then he said something she swore she'd never heard from him before: "I'm sorry."_

 _She knew she must have looked completely confused. It was just that apologizing was so unlike him._

" _I'm sorry for everything," he went on. "For that night, for everything I did and said when I was in Roswell . . ." He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded solemnly. "For leaving you and Dylan to fend for yourselves all those years ago. It was wrong of me. It was the wrong thing to do. And I'm sorry."_

 _Was he, though? Or was he just saying it? She wasn't sure. But as much as she hated to admit it . . . he actually did seem genuine. His words weren't coated in that cocky bravado she'd grown so accustomed to hearing from him._

" _You weren't in any state to be a dad back then," she told him, not to try to make him feel better, but just because . . . it was true. In the long run, she and Dylan had probably been better off without him._

" _I am now," he claimed._

 _She rolled her eyes, not sure if that was possible. Sure, rehab worked wonders sometimes, but . . . Max had_ really _gone off the deep end in Roswell. Was it even possible to resurrect yourself from that? "I don't even like you, Max," she said bluntly. "How do you expect me to trust you?"_

" _I don't expect that. And I don't even think you should, not until you get to know me again," he said. "But once you do, I promise I won't disappoint you. It's too important for me to do things right this time. Who knows? You might even end up liking this new me."_

 _She grunted. "You really think you've changed_ that _much?"_

" _I have." As the waiter approached their table with their food, he smirked and added, "Trust me."_

...

Having gotten so lost in her own thoughts, Maria didn't even realize that Max's arms were around her waist until he was pulling her closer. "Everything's gonna be fine," he assured her. "This place isn't Roswell."

"Well, it's starting to feel very Roswellian," she said, placing her hands on his chest. "Max . . ." She scrunched up his t-shirt and looked at the paint flecks that were now just a part of the shirt. Didn't matter how many times they put his clothes through the wash; sometimes they just wouldn't come out. "This is Michael Guerin," she said, tilting her head back a bit to look at him. "This is Michael Guerin at your son's school. Are you sure you're okay with that?" Inside, she was really glad that Michael still had a shot there; it made her feel less guilty about her ignorance of what had obviously been a precarious situation right from the start. But alleviating that guilt wasn't worth adding stress to Max's mind.

"I'm fine," he promised calmly. "Are _you_ okay with it?"

"Yeah . . ." She was mostly just confused with it. All of it. "I just don't want you to worry-"

"I'm not worried," he cut in. "I trust you." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, rubbed her back a bit, and then let go of her and turned to face the sink to get those dishes washed. She stood back and watched him for a few seconds before she moved in to help.


	15. Chapter 15

Kyle looked like he was miserable, but that was to be expected. The very guy who used to love working out now dreaded it, viewed it as a chore. But he responded to Sarah better than he did to the rest of them. She was that perfect mix of gentle and firm when it came to getting him active, and it was obvious she'd spent two years working at a rehabilitation facility.

Michael and Tess sat on the side of the seven-lane pool at the rec center, both of them with their feet in the water, observing while Sarah kept coaxing Kyle to swim forward. She had a method: She started out close, then took one normal-sized step back after Kyle swam towards her with the help of a flotation device. She was about six feet away from him now, which didn't sound like much, but it was progress.

"Okay," she was saying, "you can do it. Keep going. You're doing great."

"I suck," Kyle mumbled.

"Don't say that. Come on, you got this."

Rolling his eyes, Kyle put his arms out and pushed forward in the water with what little strength his body could muster. In the water, it was easier for him to move his legs. Not much, but enough to move him forward slowly.

"Good," she said again.

Leaning over, Tess said to Michael, " _Lesbihonest,_ if I was gay, I'd totally date your girlfriend."

Michael laughed and agreed, "Yeah, she's pretty great." He shook his wet hair off, purposefully all over Tess, and she acted annoyed and tried to shove him in, but he was too heavy for her.

"I'm glad she knows what to do with him, 'cause I'm at a loss," she said.

"Yeah, when Sarah tells you to do something, you pretty much just do it," he said, getting a kick out of watching her splash Kyle, just to get a smile to creep out of him. "She says to do the laundry, you do it. She tells you to turn the channel, you don't even hesitate. She tells you to go out and buy some ass-less chaps—forget I said that last part."

"Oh, whatever!" Tess yelped. "You'd never wear those."

"No. But I have been tryin' to convince her to." He was a butt guy, after all. Favorite body part on a woman.

"Well, keep workin' on her," Tess urged. "We've been doing some major toning in yoga, so I think you'd be pleased."

"I'm sure I would be." Hell, even without yoga, he was fucking _satisfied._

Tess cleared her throat, swirling her feet around in the water. "Hey, speaking of yoga . . . Sarah and I had quite the interesting conversation afterwards today."

"Oh, no. What?"

"Well, you know, she just made it sound like . . ." Tess shrugged timidly. "Like maybe you haven't really been like yourself lately?"

He sighed, hating that it was so obvious.

"Something about you punching a guy?" Tess made a face. "What's up with that?"

"I did," he admitted. "At the elementary school. Almost lost my practicum because of it."

"Almost?"

"Yeah, I . . ." He swallowed his bitterness that Max Evans of all people had been the one to rectify his mistake for him. "I got it back."

"Wow, punching a guy," Tess said in astonishment. "Vintage Michael."

"I know." He wasn't exactly proud of it, and he wasn't going to let it happen again.

"Why'd you hit him?" she asked.

 _Because of Dylan,_ he thought. _Because it was Max, and he was with Dylan._ That was all he had to say, and Tess would understand why it set him off. Kyle would understand. But Sarah might not understand, and that was why he couldn't say anything. "No reason," he lied. He just had to keep lying.

"No reason?" She didn't seem to believe him.

 _Oh, crap._ He couldn't keep having this conversation. Tess wasn't the ditz he used to perceive her as; she was actually pretty damn perceptive these days. He didn't want to let onto anything, so he diverted her focus instead. "Look," he said, pointing to Kyle as he kicked through the water a good ten feet to Sarah.

"Ooh, good job, Kyle!" Tess exclaimed, clapping her hands. He paid her no attention, but suddenly, thankfully, all her attention was on him.

...

In any other class, Michael was _not_ a back of the class guy. Not anymore. He liked to sit in a seat where a professor would see him if he raised his hand in the air. But Music Appreciation was different, because he was probably the least knowledgeable person in the room. So he sat in the back, partially due to that fact, and partially because he knew that was where Maria wanted him to sit. For now, at least.

It was bound to change, though. She'd be back there with him soon enough.

He sat back and watched her come in that day, looking a bit frazzled, like maybe it'd been a hectic morning or something. She purposefully avoided any and all eye contact with him and sat down in her usual seat, but instead of getting a pen or a piece of paper or anything out, she just sat there, looking like she was about to stand back up any second.

He smirked, confident that her own curiosity was about to get the best of her. She couldn't keep sitting up there, no matter how strong her willpower had gotten. There were things she wanted to know, and she was going to come ask him.

She managed to stay up there for about a minute at the most, and then she was picking up her purse and trying to discreetly walk towards the back of the classroom. He got an inward chuckle out of that.

Sliding into the empty seat beside him, she quietly asked, "So what's her name?"

 _Wow, straight to the point_ , he thought, deciding to play dumb a little. "Who?"

"Your girlfriend," she elaborated. "You said you've been dating her for two years. I assume you know her name by now."

He wanted to believe she sounded just the slightest bit jealous, but . . . ah, maybe he was reading too much into it. "Sarah," he responded.

"Sarah," she echoed. "Does she go to school here?"

"Yep."

"Hmm. How'd you guys meet?"

"Tess set us up." _So many questions . . ._

"And you've been together two years now," she recapped. "Wow. That's a really long time."

It was. A lot had changed in that time. _He_ had changed.

"That's great, though, Michael," she said. "I'm . . . I'm really happy for you."

He gave her a skeptical look. "Really?" Was it too much to ask that she might be just a _little_ envious?

"Yeah," she insisted. "It's good that you were able to meet someone and . . . move on."

"Yeah, Sarah's really great." If she wanted him to, he could launch into a whole spiel about all her amazing qualities. But what was the point of that if it wouldn't even make her flinch?

"Good," she said. "That's . . . that's really good." She smiled, an unfaltering kind of smile. Not an uncertain kind. "So what else is different now?"

 _That_ one he was reluctant to answer, because it was like opening up a can of worms. "Lots of stuff," he said vaguely.

"Like what?"

"You really wanna know?"

She turned a bit in her seat, facing ever more slightly towards him now. "Yeah."

He sighed, fairly certain she'd change her mind once he _really_ got into the nitty-gritty. She was curious right now, but once he told her enough, she'd regret ever asking. "Well, I assume you heard about Kyle," he started in.

"Yeah." She grimaced. "It was all over the news when it happened. I wanted to call, but . . ." She trailed off.

 _But you didn't,_ he thought bitterly. Whatever. It didn't matter anymore.

"How's he doing now?" she asked.

Michael shrugged. "He's still rehabbing, trying to learn how to walk again. He and Tess are still engaged, but I don't think they'll be gettin' married anytime soon." Now there was something he never would have said two years ago.

"Are they back in Roswell?"

"No, they're here." What else could he tell her about someone she cared about but hadn't seen in years? "Let's see . . . my mom."

Her eyes lit up a bit.

"She manages a bookstore now instead of working at the library. _She's_ still in Roswell, though." As an afterthought, just to get her reminiscing, he added, "Same old house."

Maria sighed. "I miss her."

 _Did you miss me?_ he wanted to ask. But he didn't.

"What else?" she prompted.

The other stuff . . . wasn't what she'd be expecting. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to get into it, but the professor hadn't arrived yet, and class wasn't technically in session. So why not? If he didn't tell her now, she might dart off to another town without looking back, and then he'd never get the chance. "My dad's dead," he blurted unaffectedly.

Her whole body stilled in horror. "What?"

"Yeah, towards the start of my freshman year." He stared down at his lap, at nothing in particular, and told her, "He drank too much." Biting out a laugh, he grumbled, "Imagine that."

"Oh my god," she whispered.

"He passed out, threw up, choked on it while he laid there." He shrugged nonchalantly. "And now he's gone."

"Oh my god, Michael," she repeated.

"Yeah, so . . . there's that." It didn't matter if he didn't dwell on it the way most sons would have. It was a life-changing thing, and she hadn't been there for it.

"I'm _so_ sorry," she apologized. "I had no idea."

"It's fine," he said flippantly. "I mean, it's not _fine,_ but . . . I don't miss him."

"I'm sure Tina does, though."

His eyebrows shot up momentarily, the second she mentioned his sister's name. "She's kinda . . . preoccupied."

"Not with Hannah Crown, I hope." Maria made a face of disgust and rolled her eyes.

"No, she got over that."

"Good. So how is she?"

 _Oh, loaded fucking question._ "She's . . . pretty grown up." Maybe he could just dance around the real answer enough.

"God, she's, like, in junior high now, isn't she?"

"Eighth grade." _Too young._

"Wow, I bet she's changed a lot."

"You could say that." She'd probably changed just as much as he had, just not in the right ways.

He didn't want to say more, but with Maria sitting there next to him, looking at him expectantly, he knew he would. Because she cared about Tina and had thought of her as family once. She deserved to know.

"She's pregnant," he informed her.

That expectant look all over Maria's face quickly morphed into a terrified one. For a few seconds, she didn't say anything, and when she finally did, all she could manage was a single astonished, " _What_?"

"Yeah." He wasn't happy about it, either.

"Are you—are you serious?" she sputtered.

He wished he wasn't. "I found out a couple weeks ago."

"She's . . ." Maria inhaled shakily, sat there in stunned silence for a bit, and then exhaled just as nervously. "But she's . . ."

 _Still a kid herself,_ he filled in mentally. _Sound familiar?_ "So yeah, she's probably changed the most out of everyone," he recapped mundanely. "That's about it." There was a lot more detail he could have gone into, about everyone, but there was no time. The professor had finally shown up, and everyone was starting to get quiet. But still . . . there were things _he_ wanted to know, too. Things about her. Things about Dylan. "What about-" When he turned to look at her, though, he knew she was in no state to answer anything, to _say_ anything. She wasn't looking at him anymore. In fact, she was purposefully looking away, tilting her head back as if to keep the tears inside.

He stayed quiet, figuring that she was either now blaming herself for influencing Tina or flashing back to her own young pregnancy. Either way, whatever emotions she was feeling in that moment couldn't have been pleasant.

...

A hundred channels and nothing to watch. Dissatisfied with his options, Michael settled on Sports Center, the good old standby, even though he knew Sarah got so bored with it. "So is it Victor's birthday this weekend?" he asked her.

"Actually, it's Monday," she responded from the kitchen. She'd been laboring over that stove from the moment she got home from work. He didn't know what concoction she was whipping up, but whatever it was called for a lot of different ingredients and smelled _good_. "But we're celebrating this weekend," she added. "My parents are throwing him a little party."

"Is anyone his age actually gonna be at this party?"

"Michael!" she yelped.

"What? He said he has no friends."

"No, actually he has a few friends now," she informed him. "He told some kids in his science class some of the jokes you told him, and now people are starting to get to know him better and like him more."

"Good." That had been the goal. "See, I got the magic touch when it comes to that popularity shit." He'd never tried to be popular back in high school or middle school, or even before then. He just always had been.

"So what jokes did you tell him?" she asked as she stirred something that was bound to be delectable in a huge red pot.

"Oh, a few." He had so much perverted humor stashed away in the dusty corners of his brain, it took him a minute to recall which ones he'd told Victor. "Like, uh . . . why do men find it difficult to make eye contact?"

"Ugh," she groaned. "I don't know. Why?"

"Breasts don't have eyes." He grinned, getting a kick out of his own joke. "It's true."

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile.

"Oh, _and_ . . . what's long and hard and has cum in it?" Knowing she wasn't going to figure it out, he answered laughingly, "A cucumber." That was a good one right there. Priceless. It would stand the test of time.

"These are the jokes you told my _little_ brother?" she said.

"Yeah, I mean, why not? Victor's my homeboy. I gotta make sure his mind's in the gutter as much as possible."

"Your homeboy," she mumbled, shaking her head. "So does that mean you're going with me to his birthday party then?"

"Uh . . . do I have to?" He really wanted to find a way out of it. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Victor, but I don't really wanna spend my Saturday at a ninth grade birthday party, you know? I was kinda thinkin' it might be cool to just crash on this couch and relax." He shifted further down on the middle cushion, lying back, getting comfy.

"I know, but I don't have to work this weekend," she said, "so I think I should go."

"Okay, take my present with you then. It's under the bed."

"What is it?"

"A subscription to _Playboy_."

"What?" she shrieked, looking like she was about to dump that entire pot of boiling deliciousness on him.

"Oh, come on, it's healthy; it's natural. It's good for him," he insisted. Hell, he'd started reading _Playboy_ back when he was eight.

"I am not giving him that!" she decided adamantly.

He chuckled at her outrage. "No, I'm just kidding. I got him that weird anime poster he wanted."

"Oh." Immediately, she calmed down. "You're a good guy."

"Yeah, I'm alright." He yawned, trying to gauge whether or not he had the energy for anything other than a non-relaxing weekend. He wasn't scheduled to work at all, either, so he'd really been looking forward to the downtime. But Sarah had gone home with him to Roswell a couple weeks ago, and that had been a suckfest; so he probably owed her this much. "No, you know, if you really want me to go with you, I will," he offered.

"It'd make Victor happy," she pointed out, but before she could do any more persuading or sexy pouting or anything that would make him give in instantly, there was a knock on the door. "Can you get that?" she asked as she continued to stir.

Even though he didn't feel like moving, he got up and shuffled to the door. When he opened it, there stood . . .

"Tina?" What the hell was his sister doing there?

"Hey, can I stay here this weekend?" she asked without hesitation. "Mom's driving me crazy." Without waiting for an answer, she squeezed inside and said, "Thanks."

Michael just watched in confusion as she dropped her backpack on the floor next to the TV and flopped down on the couch. Shango hopped down off the bed and scampered towards her, immediately trying to climb up onto her lap. "Hey, Shango!" she exclaimed, petting him.

 _I don't get it,_ Michael thought. Tina had been to his apartment before, but never without his mom. This wasn't normal at all.

"Hey, Tina," Sarah greeted unsurely from the kitchen.

"Hey, Sarah," she returned, inhaling the tantalizing aroma of a meal that was almost done now. "Mmm, that smells good."

"Thanks, it's a . . . new recipe?" Sarah shot Michael an utterly confused look, and he just shrugged, as baffled as she was.

"Teenie, what—what're you doin' here?" he sputtered, closing the door.

She picked up the remote and changed the channel. "I told you, Mom's driving me crazy. I had to get outta the house."

"How'd you get here?" Oh god, hopefully she hadn't just hopped into a car with some guy. He'd kick her ass if she'd done that.

"I took a bus," she replied almost . . . proudly.

"Does Mom know you're here?"

"She does . . ." Tina took her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket and quickly typed out a text. "Now." She smirked as she pressed _send_ , looking way too satisfied with herself for Michael's liking. "I told her I was going to the volleyball game after school, but . . ." She shrugged flippantly, as if it were no big deal.

"Teenie . . ." What the hell was she thinking?

"Don't judge, okay?" she whimpered. "You don't know how annoying she's been lately. She's always lecturing me."

"Any reason why she shouldn't?" Tina was a knocked up eighth grader. Lectures were inevitable.

"Oh, don't start in, Michael," she groaned. "I came here 'cause I needed an escape for a few days."

"Why would you-" He didn't get to finish, though, because his phone rang. It was sitting on the kitchen table, and Sarah reached for it.

"That's probably her," Tina mumbled.

"It is," Sarah said, taking the call. "Hi, Krista." She turned the stove burner down to low heat and slipped around the divider and into the bedroom. "Yeah, she's here," she said, eyeing Tina. "Actually, she just showed up." She slipped into the bathroom to take the call, and the only other thing Michael heard her say was, "We didn't know . . ." as she closed the bathroom door.

Michael stood in the living room like a dumbass, not sure what to say to his sister. Any lecture he dished out would make him sound like a hypocrite, but he didn't want to act like having her there was just totally okay, either.

"I didn't interrupt, like, a sex night or anything, did I?" she asked.

God, he hated that word coming out of her mouth. "No."

" 'cause I saw a couch out in the lounge. I can go sleep out there," she offered.

" _Or_ I can drive you home, and you can sleep in your own bed."

"No, Michael, please, don't make me leave!" she whined. "I came all the way down here-"

"Without permission," he cut in.

"You used to do stuff all the time without permission!" she pointed out vehemently. "Can you, like, _try_ to remember a time when you weren't Mom's favorite and you guys didn't automatically agree on everything? I can't be there this weekend, okay? She's driving me crazy; I'm driving her crazy. We're driving each other crazy!"

"You're gonna drive _me_ crazy if you stay here," he warned. This was not shaping up to be the relaxing, stress-free weekend he'd had in mind.

Sarah came out of the bathroom then and cleared her throat. "Michael," she said, motioning him over.

He shook his head at Tina as she continued to channel surf and made his way out of earshot towards his girlfriend.

"Your mom's freaking out right now," Sarah informed him. "She wants Tina to stay here."

"Why?"

"Because she's worried she'll just take off again if you drive her home."

He exhaled heavily, not sure if he could just let her crash here. Truth be told, he was pretty pissed at her right now. She was acting like a brat.

"At least for tonight," Sarah said. "Your mom said they're not getting along at all, and she thinks it'll be good for her to spend some time with you."

He groaned, frustrated, because he didn't know what his mom expected him to do. He didn't have the secret code to crack the mystery that Tina Guerin had become. He didn't know what to say to her, what to do with her. She'd probably end up getting just as fed up with him as she was with their mom.

"What about Victor's party?" he said.

"I'll go," Sarah replied. "It'll be good for me to spend the weekend with my family, and it'll be good for you to spend the weekend with yours."

Would it, though? What if they just fought the whole time? That wouldn't be good for anyone.

"She's reaching out, Michael," Sarah said softly. "She needs you."

He sighed, glancing back at his sister. She was playing with Shango now, letting him climb all over her and paw at her hair.

Sarah was right. Of course he couldn't turn her away.

...

As evening fell, Maria lay on her stomach atop her bed, a scrapbook sprawled out in front of her. It was a poorly-assembled thing she'd put together a couple years ago during her first few months in Houston. Back then, it had been a much-needed project to take her mind off all the loneliness she'd felt. Now, it was one giant reminder of the past.

The first few pages of the book were full of pictures of her during her pregnancy. In most of them, she was standing in the bathroom of her dad's house, looking at her ever-expanding profile in the mirror and taking a picture of herself on her phone. In each picture, the baby bump kept getting progressively bigger, and the look on her face kept getting more and more panicked.

Most young mothers probably had plenty of pictures taken of them during their nine long months of pregnancy, but not her. She and her dad had never been close, so being pregnant under his roof had barely even concerned him. And her mom had been so disappointed in her that she couldn't even fake enough enthusiasm to snap a photo. Not once. So all she had now were these . . . pregnant selfies.

Maria touched the photo of herself at seven months. She looked happier in that one because Max had come back into the picture. He'd told her not to put the baby up for adoption, that he'd be there for her.

He'd lied.

Tears started to sting her eyes, not only because of her own memories, but because of what Michael had told her about Tina today. She remembered Tina. Sweet, innocent Tina, the girl who had gotten excited about getting a solo for choir, the girl who had botched a cheerleading performance at her middle school talent show but still looked adorable in the process. How was it possible that that same little girl was going to have a kid now? She was even younger than Maria had been.

She felt sad for her. And scared. So, so scared.

And partly responsible.

"Hey, Mom."

She quickly shoved any and all emotions down and put a smile on her face when her little boy came skipping into the room. "Hey, baby."

"Mom . . ." He gave her a look and climbed up onto the bed.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I know you're not a baby anymore." As she flipped through the book, though, it was sure easy to remember when he had been. He'd been cute enough to be one of those calendar babies, that was for sure.

"I was there," he said, pointing out a picture of him in a little baby bathtub in the sink. That had been his first bath, and he'd had a blast with it.

"Yeah, look how adorable you were," she said, wishing she would have been able to appreciate it more back then. Back then, she'd been so overwhelmed and so clueless about how to be a mom. And so alone. She hadn't had the time to savor all the cute little moments he'd given her, because she'd been too busy worrying, stressing.

He settled in close to her and started looking at the pictures in amazement. "Whoa," he said. "Is that me?" He pointed to a picture of himself with virtually no hair, sleeping in his crib.

"Yep, that's you."

He giggled and commented, "I look weird."

"You look cute."

He reached out and turned the page, then turned it again, then grabbed a few pages at once and turned to nearly the back of the book. He put his hand next to a picture of the two of them outside at wintertime and remarked, "You look happy there."

She did. In that picture, there was no worry in her eyes. Only joy. Amusement. Excitement. "Yeah," she agreed, "I was." She and Dylan were standing next to a deformed snowman, one they'd spent an hour trying to build. Although he was lopsided and had no face, Dylan had been so proud of it, and she'd loved every second of helping him put it together.

But she knew that wasn't the only reason why she looked so happy in that picture. Because she remembered exactly when and where it had been taken. Ultimately, when she looked at that photo, all she could think about was that Michael had been the one to take it.

...

Sarah left after dinner, opting to head home to Las Cruces tonight to spend even a little more time with her family this weekend. Which left Michael alone with the painful awkwardness that was his sister. He didn't know what to say to her, because he'd gotten on the phone with his mom, and she'd specifically told him not to yell, not to lecture, fearing that it would drive Tina to hop on a bus and go somewhere else. The safest place for her to be, they decided, was right there with him.

They watched TV for about a half an hour, neither one of them saying anything, until Tina announced that she was still hungry. Without Sarah there, though, options were limited, so he grabbed a small carton of chocolate chip ice cream out of the refrigerator and gave it to her.

"Thanks," she said, smiling appreciatively.

He sat down beside her on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, swapping the spoon in his hand for the remote control in hers. Screw this ABC Family shit. If she was going to be under his roof tonight, they were going to flip it to sports. He hit the channel number for ESPN, and it was a relief to see college football on the screen. An Alabama game, which meant Kyle would be watching.

"Mmm," Tina murmured as she took her first bite of ice cream. "This is good. I've been so hungry."

 _Yeah, I wonder why,_ he thought sarcastically. He glanced down at her midsection, but she was wearing a loose, long-sleeved Comets shirt, so her bump wasn't very visible. _Good._

She ate a little bit more, then sighed and stared down at her ice cream remorsefully. "I know you're disappointed in me," she said. "I'm sorry."

An apology. Well, that was something. "I'm just worried about you," he clarified. "I want you to be okay." He'd done plenty of wild and crazy things in his life, but it freaked him out that she'd started doing them even earlier than he had. He hadn't asked yet, but he suspected she'd already tried alcohol. Hopefully not drugs, but . . . it was possible.

"I'll be fine," she reassured him. "It won't be easy, but . . . I'll be fine."

 _Like it's that simple,_ he wanted to say, but he held back. If he started arguing with her, she might not stick around, and he couldn't risk her taking off and hopping into the backseat of some sleazy college guy's car.

"What about you?" she asked. "Anything new?"

It almost seemed pointless to waste any time talking about himself while she was in the room, but then again . . . maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe she was tired of talking about herself, her . . . _situation_. Maybe things wouldn't be so awkward if he opened up to her about some of the stuff he'd been dealing with lately, too.

"Alright, if I tell you something, you gotta promise not to say anything, alright?" he started in. "I mean, _promise_."

"I promise," she said.

"Like, you can't tell anyone. Okay? Not Nicholas, not Mom . . ."

She grunted. "Trust me, I won't tell her."

"You can't tell anyone." If his mom found out . . . well, then she'd end up worrying about _both_ her kids. And there was no need.

"What is it?" she asked, turning to face him.

He sighed, knowing he couldn't back out now. He had to tell her. "Maria's in town."

Her eyes immediately got wider. " _DeLuca_?"

"Yeah." It felt a little better to finally say that out loud, though he did feel bad for not saying it to Sarah first.

"What about Dylan?" Tina asked eagerly. That look of hopefulness on her face . . . it reminded him of the real Tina, the young one. The innocent one who used to play with Dylan all the time.

"Yeah, he's here," Michael informed her. "I've seen him."

Tina broke into a smile. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed. "I've missed him so much. Does he still look the same?"

"Well, older, but . . ." Michael shrugged, smiling as he pictured him sitting in the lunch room with his friends. "Yeah, he's still Dylan."

"Oh my god," she gasped again. "That's so crazy. That's awesome. I love Dylan."

"I know." He loved him, too.

"So where'd you see him?"

"At his school," he replied. "The one where I'm doing my practicum."

"Wow, small world."

"Really." Isabel's arrival in Carlsbad last semester had shrunk his world down a notch or two, but this . . . this made it feel downright _tiny_.

"So do you, like, see him all the time and stuff?" she babbled. "Do you actually work with him, or-"

"Well, Dylan's not the kind of kid who needs a lot of guidance." Which was a good thing, he supposed, but at the same time . . . he wouldn't mind a chance to get to sit down with him and talk.

"Does he remember you?"

Michael swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering that first day he'd seen him there, the way Dylan had run up to him, hugged him, and called him 'Daddy.' Just like old times. "Yeah," he answered softly. "He remembers."

"Aw . . ." Tina smiled tearfully. "That's so cool."

She seemed to have skipped over the first part of what he'd told her, though, the part about Maria, so he revealed more. "Maria's taking classes here. We actually have one together."

Tina's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Yep." He wasn't about to confess to enrolling in that class on purpose, though, not even to his sister. That was one secret he wasn't letting anyone know about.

"So have you guys, like . . . hung out?" she asked. "Talked?"

"We've talked a little," he admitted.

"Is it weird?"

"Oh, yeah." Back when Maria had first left him, he'd dreamed of the day when he could see her again, say anything to her. But now that that day was here . . . he wasn't sure how to feel about it. Because that dream had died a long time ago.

"Does Sarah know?" Tina asked quietly.

God, he wished he could say yes, that she knew everything and didn't have a problem with it. But he shook his head instead.

"Oh god, Michael," she groaned. "Don't do this."

"What?"

"Don't ruin what you have with Sarah just so you can go back to . . . _her_."

"What? I'm not—we're not . . ." he sputtered. "It's not like that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I love Sarah." It was a simple as that.

"Yeah, everyone loves Sarah. She's awesome. So don't screw it up," Tina cautioned.

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"Yes." He hated that his own past gave her a reason to question him. But how could it not? He'd cheated on Isabel twice, and the second time had been with Maria DeLuca. It was natural for her to wonder.

"Crazy," she said. "So Dylan goes to the school you work at, Maria goes to the college you school at, and Sarah has no idea?"

He sighed, feeling like a jerk. "I don't know how to tell her."

"Just tell her sooner rather than later," she advised, " 'cause otherwise it's kinda like you're lying to her."

He lowered his head, feeling ashamed. _I don't wanna do that,_ he thought. _Not now, not ever._ But he already had.

"That's not all," he added. "You remember Max?"

Instantly, Tina's whole body stiffened. "You mean . . . Dylan's father?" she questioned shakily. "The guy who came to our house and took him right out of my room? The guy who drove off with him?"

"That'd be the one." He hated to bring back any memories of that night for her, because he knew she still wasn't over it. With the exception of finding their father dead in his bed, that had probably been the most traumatic event of her life.

"What about him?" she asked warily.

He pressed his lips together tightly and muttered, "He's here, too."

"What?" she shrieked.

"Yeah. I saw him at the school, pretty much started to beat the crap out of him."

"Why was he there?"

Well, that was the real kicker, wasn't it? The real punch in the gut. "To pick up Dylan."

She made a face of disbelief. " _What_?"

"Yeah. He's back in his life."

"And he and Maria are together?" she assumed.

"No, she says it's not like that." But it didn't matter, because it still pissed Michael off that she'd been able to forgive him enough to let him back into her son's life. It didn't matter how much of a changed man he claimed to be; there were just some things that were unforgiveable.

"That's crap," Tina declared. "That Max guy was a monster, but Maria kicks _you_ to the curb and then goes right back to him?" She grunted. "What a bitch."

He gave his sister a look, not used to hearing her talk like that. Although she _had_ used a few choice words to describe Maria that summer after she'd left with Dylan in tow. Tina had probably been the one to be the angriest with her, probably because she'd been so young and had a hard time understanding everything. His mom, on the other hand, had been the most compassionate, and his dad had been oblivious and drunk. And back then . . . well, back then, Michael had just been sad.

"You can't tell anyone," he reiterated. "I haven't even told Kyle."

"No, I won't say anything," she assured him. "Your secret's safe with me."

He appreciated that—he really did. But at the same time, he hated the fact that he had any secrets anymore. Telling Tina was just the start. He was going to have to tell Sarah at some point, and he knew he shouldn't wait much longer.


	16. Chapter 16

Having lived on campus for two years now, Michael very well could have been a fucking guide. He knew where everything was, knew the stories and the history behind everything. He was like a one-man walking information station. So he took Tina out the next day to get a feel for college life. He wanted to have some fun with her, but more than that, he wanted to motivate her. He wanted her to walk around that campus and envision herself there in a couple of years. And then he wanted _her_ to make the decisions she had to make in order for that to be possible.

"Alright, back behind this building is the building where I have most of my psychology classes," he pointed out. "And even further back then that's where I have Music Appreciation."

"Is that the class you have with Maria?" Tina guessed.

"Maybe." He pointed out a monumental building on her left and explained, "That's the honors hall. It's like a ghost town. I swear, I've never seen one person walk in or out of there. It's creepy."

She laughed a little and theorized, "I bet they're all too busy on their computers."

"And studying," he added.

"You study a lot," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but not that much." If he'd gotten the grades he got now back in high school, he actually might have qualified for the honors program. But he was glad he hadn't. That would have been a lonely existence.

Eventually they got to the main hub of campus, the student union. Seeing that seemed to spark an excitement in Tina. Her whole face lit up as she looked around at all there was to see. There was a stepping crew putting on a performance right out front, and set up near the fountain was a University bookstore tent, selling some of their campus gear at half price. On Plaza Verde, one of the fraternities had set up a huge bouncy slide and were getting some kind of event going.

"Wow," Tina said. "Is it like this all the time?"

It wasn't, but he lied just to keep her interest piqued. "Yeah."

She smiled. "Cool."

He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her past the steppers and to the bookstore tent. "You wanna go here someday?"

"Yeah," she said, "you know, if . . . I'm able to."

 _You might be able to,_ he thought, _if you give your baby up for adoption._ "Yeah, it might be kinda hard," he agreed, "if you have a kid."

"But Maria has a kid," she noted, "and she still ended up here."

He frowned, not wanting her to think that it was just that easy.

"How'd that happen anyway?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't ask her." He would, though, next time he got the chance. He'd been so preoccupied with just seeing her again that it hadn't even dawned on him that she'd overcome something, that she'd made it past that huge barrier she'd always had in her life. Either she'd graduated high school or she'd gotten her GED. Either way, it was a good thing. And he was proud of her.

"You wanna buy something?" he asked Tina, motioning to all the merchandise on display. Some things were just discounted school supplies, but there were clothes, too, stuff to wear on game day, mostly. Lots of Crimson. Go Aggies.

Tina lifted up a crimson t-shirt that was about her size (for now, at least), and asked about the design, "Is that the mascot?"

"Yeah."

She made a face. "He's kind of lame."

"Hey, don't rag on Pistol Pete. He's a cowboy. He's badass." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fly standing in a small crowd watching the step crew, waving to get his attention. "Here, go ahead and buy something," he said, handing Tina a twenty dollar bill. If she bought that t-shirt, even if she only wore it to bed, maybe it'd be a constant reminder of what the future _could_ entail for her. Maybe it'd get her thinking. At this point, it couldn't hurt.

He made his way over to Fly and greeted, "What's up, man?"

"Nothin' much," Fly said, his eyes on Tina. "Who's that? Papi like."

Michael shot him a stern look. "That's Tina."

Fly grinned and let her name roll exaggeratedly off his tongue. " _Tina_."

"She's my sister."

Immediately, Fly looked mortified. "Oh, Papi no! No! I didn't mean-"

"She's thirteen."

"Oh, shit," he swore. "Shit, I—no, I didn't . . . just forget I said anything, bro."

"Gladly." He hated that Tina had hit puberty early and looked older than she was. Hated it so much.

Fly covered his face with his hands and Michael watched as Tina paid for the t-shirt, then spun around and held it up to herself with a big smile on her face. _Aggies,_ it read beneath the mascot's picture. _New Mexico State._ Maybe someday she'd get to wear that shirt as an actual student here. Anything was possible, even if it didn't seem likely. He was living proof of that.

...

Tess was either working or shopping, and Kyle didn't know which. All he knew was that she was going to be gone for the afternoon, so that left him to fend for himself. He hobbled into the kitchen only long enough to pop some popcorn during halftime of the Wisconsin/Ohio State matchup on ESPN. After this game, he'd flip over to ABC for the Baylor/Oklahoma game. Then tonight was an SEC matchup between Missouri and Georgia, followed by a late-night PAC-12 game featuring Oregon and Arizona State. It was a big Saturday for any college football fan, as the soft-core games were now out of the way, and the real matchups were starting. Alabama had won last night, and their quarterback was receiving a lot of Heisman hype already. It would probably die off as the weeks wore on, but for now . . . it must have been a cool feeling for him.

The third quarter of the current game was just beginning when there was a loud knock on the door. Kyle groaned, debating whether it was even worth it to try to get up and answer it. Chances were whoever was waiting would be gone by the time he got to the door.

 _What the hell? Why not?_ he thought flippantly, getting to his feet. He was trying to use his cane today, just to see if his body could handle it. Once Tess came back home, though, he'd hop back in that wheelchair, because he didn't want to get her hopes up.

It took him about a full minute, but like an old man, he moved unsteadily to the front door. The curtain was pulled over the window, but he could see two figures outlined on the other side. He could tell by the hair alone that one of them was Michael, and he assumed the other was Sarah.

"You guys should've just come in," he said, pulling open the door, figuring they'd only knocked and waited so he would _have_ to get up and answer it.

Much to his surprise, though, it wasn't Sarah who was standing next to Michael. It was Tina, and she looked different than she had the last time he'd seen her. Taller, more mature, more makeup. She was wearing an Aggies shirt.

"Kyle!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him right away. The force of her hug sent him slightly off balance for a moment, but he pressed down hard on his cane and managed not to fall.

"Tina, hey," he greeted nervously. He couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking about the way he looked, because he knew he looked pretty awful. The last time she'd seen him had been a few months after his accident. He hadn't put on weight at that point yet.

"What're you doin' here?" he asked, releasing her from the hug.

She shrugged. "Just visiting."

"Yeah, she just showed up," Michael elaborated, "yesterday, right outside my apartment. Unannounced."

She exaggeratedly rolled her eyes.

"Well, it's . . . good to see you," Kyle said, too preoccupied worrying about what _he_ looked like to even take a closer look at her stomach and see if she was showing yet. "Excuse me." He left her with a confused look on her face and staggered down the hall, going as fast as his cane would take him, and shut himself up in his darkened bedroom. _Out of sight,_ he thought, sighing in relief. _Thank God._ This was how he liked it, how he wanted it. He didn't want to face anyone he used to know, didn't want them to see him like this. That was why he hardly ever went home to Roswell, and whenever he did, he dreaded it.

He hobbled over to his bed, sat down, and tossed his stupid cane aside. His wheelchair was pushed into the corner, shrouded in shade. It seemed as if it were glaring at him, taunting him: _You should have just used me. That cane makes you look even more pathetic._

Carefully, he laid down and closed his eyes, but he heard Michael's heavy footsteps coming down the hall. A few seconds later, the bedroom door opened, and his friend slipped inside, shutting the door. "What was that all about?" he said.

Honestly, Kyle did feel bad for only saying a few words to Tina. Back when she'd been growing up, he'd felt like a big brother to her. But not anymore. She was just another person who probably didn't know what to think when she saw him now.

"Why'd you bring her here?" he asked back grumpily.

"She wanted to see you. It's been over a year."

"Yeah, and I still look like crap," Kyle grumbled. "You don't get it, man. I'm embarrassed to be seen like this."

"She doesn't care," Michael assured him.

"I care." It was hard to explain, but there was something about having Tina out there, the girl who used to have a crush on him back in the day . . . it made him feel like complete shit, because now she was probably scratching her head, wondering what she was thinking to have ever liked such a loser. "Just tell her I'm tired, okay? I'm not up to seein' anyone."

Michael stared at him long and hard, then shook his head in disappointment. "Whatever, man," he mumbled, turning and heading back out of the bedroom to break the news to Tina that this visit would be cut short. Extremely short.

"Sorry," Kyle apologized quietly once no one else was in the room.

...

Surprisingly, Michael had a nice day with Tina. They didn't argue about her situation, and he managed not to lecture her a whole lot about what a brat she was being to their mom. Instead, they just hung out. Brother and sister. And it was nice. It almost felt like old times, like her whole life _wasn't_ getting more and more complicated with every day while he was just powerless to watch.

He drove her home to Roswell, much to her discontent, and had dinner with her and his mom. That was followed by a short but meaningful conversation with his mother, one where she mostly cried and thanked him for being there for both Tina and herself. He told her he wished he could do more, and she begged him to stay the night.

He couldn't do that, though. No way could he sleep upstairs in that old bedroom of his right now. Not with . . . . everything going on.

When he said goodbye to Tina, she whispered to him that he needed to tell Sarah, and he knew she was right. So he drove back to Carlsbad that night, resolved to do just that. No more secrets, no more lying by omission. He was going to get it all out in the open, and she'd probably be upset. He might have to sleep on the couch tonight, but tomorrow, she'd wake up, and they'd talk about it some more, and everything would be fine. Because she loved him, and he loved her, and that was really all that mattered.

It was so late when he finally got home that he wasn't sure if she'd still be awake or not. He let himself into their apartment quietly, and what he saw almost melted his heart. She'd lit all sorts of candles all around the bedroom and was curled up on her side, asleep in one of his t-shirts. Her thick, dark hair was sprawled out behind her, and she looked like she was having a good dream.

He took off his shoes and jacket and knelt down beside the bed, reaching out to gently stroke her hair. He'd hoped not to disturb her, but apparently she wasn't sleeping too deeply, because she moaned softly, stirred a bit, and opened her eyes. "Hi," she said, smiling happily.

"Hey." He touched her cheek, not sure if he could do this tonight. She looked so peaceful and calm that he just didn't want to upset her.

"Did you take Tina home?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Is she okay?"

He sighed heavily, not sure if he knew the answer to that question. "I don't know." At least her time here hadn't hurt. The whole drive home, she'd been asking him a lot of questions about college classes, and what it was like to go to college football games. That was a good sign.

"You're a good big brother," she told him.

"You're a good big sister," he returned. "How was Victor's party?"

"It was fun."

"Yeah?" He kind of wished he could have gone after all. Being with Sarah's family was nice, because they were the most stable, loving family he'd ever known in his entire life. "Did he like my present?"

"He loved it," she said.

"Good." He looked around the room, counting at least a dozen candles flickering, and teased, "You tryin' to start a fire here or what?"

"It's romantic," she said. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." Things always felt better with her around. Warmer, safer, brighter. Sort of like this bedroom right now.

"Come here," she said, patting the bed.

He loved lying in bed with her, especially when they were falling asleep, so he didn't take much convincing to climb up onto that bed. He snuggled in beside her, propping himself up on his forearm so he could gaze down at her. She was so beautiful, especially with her skin was illuminated in the candlelight.

"What?" she asked, moving so that she was mostly lying on her back now.

His heart started to race with dread. What if she cried when he told her about Maria and Dylan being in town? He didn't want to be the one to bring tears to those pretty brown eyes of hers.

"I have to tell you something," he said.

There was only a slight look of questioning on her face. When she reached up to touch his cheek much in the same way that he'd just been touching hers, he lost his resolve. It vanished into thin air, and he took the easy way out. Instead of telling her the truth, he told her . . . a different truth. "I love you."

She smiled happily, her eyes twinkling with genuine joy. "I love you, too," she whispered.

 _Would you love me less if you knew there was something I'm not telling you?_ he wondered. But instead of dwelling on it, he pushed the concern to the back of his mind and lowered his head to kiss her. Her lips were soft and warm, just like the rest of her.

Some night, he'd work up the courage to tell her. Tonight just wasn't that night.

...

The weekend for Maria had been surprisingly relaxing, which was nice. She and Max and Dylan had enjoyed some nice, uninterrupted time together. A couple movies, a few board games, time at the park . . . there were definitely worse ways to spend your days off.

They sat together at the kitchen table as clouds gathered in the sky, making the kitchen seem much darker that afternoon than it normally would have been. Max and Dylan were engaged in a heated game of checkers, and Maria was content to sit back and watch them. They played games a lot, and usually, Max let Dylan win. He almost always let him win checkers, even though he was a master of it.

"Your turn," she prompted Max when he started to space out.

"Oh, right." He pretended to think long and hard about his move, then made a stupid one, setting Dylan up for success. Dylan spotted it right away and eagerly jumped over Max's black piece with his red one. "King me!" he proclaimed.

"Oh, man, you're too good," Max groaned. "Are you ever gonna let me win?"

Dylan giggled. "Nope."

Max took his captured piece off the board, but before he could stack Dylan's new king piece twice as high, the doorbell rang. "You wanna get that?" he asked.

Dylan pointed to himself and said, "Me?"

"Yeah."

Maria smiled as he excitedly hopped down off the chair and scampered to the door. They usually didn't let him answer it unless they knew who was on the other side, as was the case today.

When he opened the door, his fate lit up immediately. "Scawlet!" he exclaimed, still struggling to say her name correctly.

"Hey, Dylan," Liz said, coming inside. "Scarlet, say hi to your big brother." She set her daughter down on unsteady legs, and she plopped down on her butt right away.

Dylan laughed, bent down and hugged his sister. "Hi, Scawlet," he said adorably.

Scarlet made a few gurgles and unintelligible baby noises, cooing with delight.

"She really likes you," Liz said.

Dylan beamed up at her proudly, then turned back to the kitchen. "Dad, look!"

Max got out of his seat and went to join them. "Look who it is," he said, bending to scoop his daughter up into his arms. He kissed her and said, "Hey, baby girl," then looked at Liz and gave her a little smile. "Hey."

"Hey," she returned, standing aside as he, Scarlet, and Dylan all went into the living room to play around.

Maria quickly put the checkers board away, figuring Dylan would have lost interest in it now. Whenever he got to spend time with Scarlet, he was _all_ about her. From the moment he'd met her, he'd loved spending time with her. He seemed to like being the big brother who was able to tell her stuff and teach her things.

"Hey, how's it goin'?" Liz asked as she shuffled into the kitchen.

"Oh, it's goin'." Maria slid the thin board back into the box and set it aside. "Thanks for coming by."

"Yeah, no problem. Scarlet always likes seeing Max and Dylan."

"Yeah, they like seeing her, too." Maria stood back and watched as they all play-wrestled together. Scarlet mostly crawled all over Max's lap and chest, and Dylan hopped onto his back, trying to pull him down. It was like the perfect snapshot for a family picture. Or a blended family picture, at least.

"So how're you doing?" Maria asked her friend.

"Oh, I'm good. Just busy, you know?" Liz replied.

"Work? School? Dating?"

"Uh, all of the above."

"Yeah? How's it going with that Dave guy?"

"Doug," Liz corrected. "And it's not. We have, like, absolutely no chemistry, so I told him I think we should just be friends."

"Oh." Maria made a face. "Sorry, that sucks."

"Yeah, he's a nice guy; he's just . . . not the one." She shrugged helplessly. "Oh, well."

"Well, you know . . . there's always Sean," Maria pointed out. "I know I'm biased since he's my cousin and all, but . . ."

"But he _is_ a nice guy, I know," Liz filled in. "And I'm glad you fixed me up with him. We had a great time together, while it lasted. But it just wasn't meant to last any longer. He's not responsible enough or ready enough, you know? With Scarlet in the mix, I need a guy who's clearly a mature adult. If he's not, it's not gonna work out."

"Yeah." Maria couldn't help but think back to Michael when Liz said that, think back to the way things had ended between the two of them. And when she thought of Michael, she remembered that there was something she wanted to ask Liz. "Hey, not to change the subject or anything," she segued awkwardly, "but when Max and I told you we were moving here, how come you didn't tell us Michael was in town?"

"Michael Guerin?" Liz said, sounding surprised.

"Yeah."

"Oh." She _looked_ surprised, too. "I honestly didn't know he was. I haven't talked to him since . . . two summers ago."

As much as she wanted to ask Liz what he'd been like two summers ago, if he'd been heartbroken or angry or both, Maria refrained. "Well, he's here," she said. "Max's face ran into his fists at Dylan's school."

"Oh my god." Liz eyes widened in horror. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine."

"What was Michael doing there?"

"A practicum. It's like student teaching."

Liz made a confused face. "Michael's gonna be a _teacher_?"

"No, a counselor." That was almost as unbelievable, although . . . in a way, in a _weird_ way . . . it made sense.

"So he's taking classes here," Liz surmised. "No, I haven't seen him. But I wasn't taking classes last semester, or the semester before that. I was really busy setting up my shop. So it's not like we'd run in the same social circles."

"But it's a small town," Maria pointed out. "You never saw him around?"

"Maria, I didn't know he was here," Liz insisted. "Last I heard, he'd headed out to Alabama with Kyle."

"Well . . . that didn't last long."

"Because of Kyle's injury," Liz said, putting the pieces together. "Kyle came here, so Michael did, too. And now he's taking classes and . . . _wow_ , I can't believe he's at Dylan's school."

"Yep." It was a head-spinner, that was for sure.

"But good for him," Liz added, "getting an education and stuff."

"Yeah." She didn't resent Michael for going to college by any means; she just would have preferred if that college was far away from hers.

"Crazy," Liz remarked, watching Max, Scarlet, and Dylan for a few seconds before asking Maria, "So have you run into him then?"

 _Yes,_ Maria thought. _Plenty of times._ But she didn't want Max to know that, and despite the fact that she and Liz were really good friends, Liz was friends with Max, too. She couldn't tell her and risk that she would tell him. "No," she lied convincingly. "Not yet."

...

Since slam poetry had been such a success, they were sticking with it. Last week's assignment for Creative Writing had been a sonnet, but Isabel hadn't had the chance to sit down and compose a good one. She found the most relaxing spot she could that afternoon, outside the student union by the fountain. There were slabs of rock that jutted out into the water of the fountain, one that was the perfect length to stretch out on. It was the perfect spot to just sit and write, as long as she didn't drop her paper in the water, of course.

 _My love burns black,_ she wrote, but that was all she could think of. She couldn't figure out how to finish out the line, let alone the entire quatrain. She crossed it out and started anew. _My icy heart afire for you to see . . ._

She cringed, having not the slightest idea where she was going with this. She crossed that one out, too, and wrote as a joke, _Clothes off, and lose the smile; look sultry._ Maybe she'd write a soft-core porn sonnet. That would be something new and different. But probably not the kind of thing Alex would view as living up to her potential as a writer.

 _Who am I kidding?_ she thought dejectedly. _I'm not a writer. I never will be._ Since none of these assignments were really amounting to anything for her anyway, she decided to let the last line she'd written stand rather than crossing it out.

Since she was having creative difficulties, she willingly let herself become distracted, hoping that inspiration might strike if she just did a little people watching. And almost right away, it did. There came Michael, looking like perhaps the hottest college guy she'd ever seen. He had on a black t-shirt and jeans, and he was with his pervy little Mexican friend, the one who had hired her to strip at Kyle's birthday party. There were a couple other guys with them, too, but all she could see was Michael.

 _You sexy beast,_ she wrote on her paper, _I'd fuck you anytime._

She watched as he and his loser friends set their backpacks down on the grass and Michael pulled a football out of his. He was probably the only one out of them who had any athletic talent, so she didn't understand why he would even bother playing with them. Maybe because playing with Kyle wasn't a possibility anymore? Whatever. Boys and toys, she'd never understand.

Watching Michael could only be so interesting, though, unless clothing items were removed. Eventually, she found herself getting bored, wanting to stir the pot, wanting to know if he was really truly this light-hearted after the reemergence of his ex-girlfriend, or if he was just putting on a good act.

She closed her notebook, stuck her pen in the binding, and got up, dipping her toes in the cool water of the fountain before slipping her sandals back on. Strutting past a few guys who pointed at her and whispered to each other, she made her way onto the grass and over to Michael, stepping right into the middle of his pointless little football game.

"Do you remember the quarterfinals game?" she asked tauntingly, just to get his attention. "Kyle threw the perfect pass and you dropped it. We could've gone to state if it wasn't for that. We could've been champions." Honestly, she didn't give a shit about that, but he did. So it was fun to rub it in.

"You guys keep playin'," Michael told his friends, tossing the football to the nerdy one. Needless to say, he didn't catch it. The Mexican one picked it up, though, and even though his eyes lingered on Isabel, he said, "Alright, fellas, go long," and the game continued on without its leader.

"What do you want, Isabel?" Michael demanded.

"Oh, nothing," she said flippantly. "I was just wondering how things are going."

"Bullshit," he claimed. "What're you really up to?"

She shrugged innocently. "I don't know. I guess I was just . . . I was just wondering how you're doing with . . . everything."

"Everything," he echoed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know . . . Max and Dylan." She waited a second before adding, "Maria."

At first, he played dumb. "What about 'em?"

"Oh, come on. Let's not dance around it. I know you know they live here now. You're doing something at Dylan's school, right? You and Max got into some kind of fight there?"

"What the hell business is it of yours?" he snapped.

"Well, none, apparently," she admitted, "since they didn't even tell me about it. They didn't even let me know they moved here. Am I, like, the plague or something? Are they afraid they're gonna catch something from me?"

"Maybe gonorrhea at this point," he mumbled.

"Ha, ha," she deadpanned, not amused. "No, but seriously, how are you doing? It must not be easy knowing that Max is back in Dylan's life."

He didn't say anything.

"It's probably even harder," she added, "knowing that he's back in . . . Maria."

That part . . . _that_ got a reaction. Michael made a face and spat, "What're you talkin' about?"

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. He didn't know? Well, then this was just fantastically perfect. This was more than just stirring the pot; it was rattling it. "Max and Maria," she said. "They're together again."

"No, they're not," he argued. "They're just raising Dylan together. It's not like that."

"Are you sure?" she challenged. "Because I talked to Max last week. He said they're together."

"Well, that's a reliable source," he muttered sarcastically.

"If they're not together, why did he have a box of condoms in his grocery bags?" It took everything she had to prevent a huge smile from coming to her face as she spoke. "They live together. They sleep together. They have a son together. This is not a hard science."

Once again, he was silent, but this time he had an utterly puzzled look on his face, and she could practically see the wheels of his feeble little mind turning as he tried to figure out whether or not she was lying to him.

"Come on, Michael," she urged, getting a kick out of all this. "I know you're an idiot, but even you're not this stupid."

He glared at her, but he didn't argue anymore. So she took that as a sign that she'd gotten through, that he believed her.

He _didn't_ look happy.

...

Maria texted Max a quick _have a good day_ after he sent her a picture of Old Mrs. Murrow's house with the caption, _another day being a great artist._ Mrs. Murrow was the elderly woman who lived at the end of their street, and she'd hired him to repaint the front of her house. It was work, so it was money, but that didn't mean it was something Max enjoyed doing. Mrs. Murrow was a notorious grump. His day would be an unpleasant one.

Maria had just put her phone away in her purse when she felt a tug on her arm. It was Michael.

"I need to talk to you," he said, pulling her towards the closed door of an empty classroom. She didn't argue, though she was curious what could be such an urgent conversation when the lecture hall for Music Appreciation was just down the hall.

The door to the classroom was unlocked, so they slipped inside, and she tried not to give too much thought to his hand on her arm. It was the first time in over two years now that he'd laid a hand on her, and it sort of sent an unwanted shiver up her spine.

He roamed his hand over the wall, looking for the light switch, but shrugged when he couldn't find it.

"What is it?" she asked.

He dropped his backpack down and shuffled further into the classroom. It was a small space with small desks, reminiscent of any high school classroom across America. Not that she'd spent a whole lot of time in high school or anything.

"I gotta ask you about something," he mumbled. "Close the door."

She tensed, not sure if she should do that. But she did anyway. "What's up?" she asked again. He seemed agitated, so she wanted to sound calm.

"I ran into Isabel yesterday," he told her.

"Oh." Was that supposed to mean something to her? Because it didn't. "Okay."

He just stared at her for a few seconds, almost as if he were expecting her to say something. But when she didn't, he blurted, "She said you and Max are back together again."

 _Oh, crap,_ she thought, trying not to show too much of a reaction. Michael couldn't deal with this. He wouldn't know how. So instead of revealing anything about herself, she turned the focus back on the gossipy culprit. "Why were you even talking to her about that?"

"Just answer the question," he growled impatiently.

"Stop yelling at me!"

"I'm not yelling!" He pressed his lips together tightly and clenched his hand into a fist momentarily, then lowered his voice and repeated, "I'm not yelling. I just wanna know if she's telling the truth."

"We don't even talk to Isabel. She's not a part of our lives."

"That doesn't answer the question," Michael ground out, "although . . . with the way you're dancin' around it, I guess it kinda does." His shoulders slouched in disappointment.

Unable to look him in the eye and admit it, she looked down at the floor instead.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head angrily. "You told me—you _told me_ you weren't together. I asked you, and you said you were just raising Dylan with him. You said you guys were his parents, nothing more. You _lied_ to me."

"Only because I didn't wanna hurt your feelings!" Her intentions had been good. Really.

"This is bullshit," he grumbled. "That guy _ruined_ our lives. He almost got Dylan killed. And you just fall back into bed with him?"

"I didn't _fall_ into anything, Michael," she insisted vehemently. "Don't you think I was cautious? Don't you think I waited and got to know him again before I-"

"Screwed him?" Michael cut in harshly. "You're screwing him. Just say it."

"No, _shut up_ , Michael!" she shouted, well aware how loud they were getting. Anyone passing by would overhear quite the intense conversation, even with the door closed. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to waltz back into my life and critique the choices I've made. You don't get to harass me for who I'm with."

"Yeah, I do," he argued, "because that guy is single-handedly responsible for the _worst_ night of my life."

"It doesn't matter! You don't get to pass judgment on him! I didn't pass judgment on Sarah."

He made a face and roared, "You don't even know her!"

"Yeah, and you don't know Max. He's not the same guy he used to be."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause he's a fucking changed man," Michael said sarcastically. "He's like a saint now, right? We're all just supposed to forget about all the crap he pulled and bow down to him?"

"I didn't forget," she insisted, "but I moved on, just like you did. Don't try to make me feel bad for living my life."

"It's bullshit," he reiterated.

"It's none of your business. It's been over two _years_ , Michael. We've been apart longer than we were together."

"So?"

" _So?_ " She huffed, unable to even vocalize her frustration with him in that moment. God, he was just . . . too worked up. He wasn't going to calm down about this. She'd seen Michael get this way before, and it became pointless to even try to reason with him. It was like talking to a brick wall.

"I can't believe you," he muttered, narrowing his eyes at her. "I can't believe you'd do this."

"What am I doing?" she shrieked. "What am I doing that's _so_ wrong? My son has a family. He has a mother and father who love him."

"And love each other?" he challenged.

"What am I supposed to do? Just be alone for the rest of my life?"

"No! But you're just not supposed to be with him. He's a _loser_."

"Funny, that's what people used to say about you."

"Oh, well, apparently you have a type then."

She groaned in frustration, fighting the urge to pull her own hair out. "God, this is ridiculous! I am _not_ gonna let you stand here and attack me and try to make me feel bad and make me out to be the bad guy in all of this!"

"No, you're not the bad guy; Max is. But you forgave him."

"Yeah." Was that really such a bad thing? "I forgave him."

"That's fucked up."

"Listen, I don't care what you think . . ."

But suddenly, his voice overpowered hers, and he roared, "How the _hell_ could you forgive him when you couldn't even forgive me?"

Her mouth dropped open, and words escaped her. She wanted to yell right back at him, to not let him have the last word. But what was she supposed to say to that? That wasn't his anger talking, or jealousy or resentment. It was sadness. Regret.

They stood together in that empty classroom, surrounded by silence for a few seconds, like their argument had gone from zero to sixty, only in reverse. And when Michael seemed to get fed up and feel that he wasn't going to get an answer, he picked up his backpack and mumbled, "Whatever. It doesn't matter." He glared at her and bit out, "I don't even care anymore," as he stormed past her and left the room.

Maria closed her eyes, letting out a defeated sigh, her shoulders slumping as all the energy drained from her. Maybe she should have told him, been honest with him right from the start, but this was exactly why she hadn't. Now he was furious, and she was confused, because she didn't know if she was more upset with him or herself.


	17. Chapter 17

The last thing—the _very_ last thing—Maria wanted to do was spend any time with Isabel. She and Max had made it a point to make sure she was not a part of their lives. They didn't want her interfering in their business, and they didn't want her around Dylan. She was just too . . . trashy, honestly. But it was clear that she was determined to not be pushed aside. It was like she was desperate for attention. So Maria had to deal with her.

Confronting Isabel meant that Maria had to wait around for Creative Writing to get done. The class must have run late, because it took _forever._ But finally, Isabel came outside, and when she saw Maria waiting for her, she made a face of contempt. "Well, look who it is," she snarled. "My least favorite person on the planet."

Maria stared at her in disbelief, shocked that she was still holding onto all that bitterness. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"Pissing you off, apparently." Isabel smirked, then got serious again and asked, "How did you even know I'd be here?"

"Liz told me you take Creative Writing with Alex twice a week, so I took a chance that you'd be here instead of at home making porn."

"Hmm." Isabel glared nastily. "Like I said, least favorite person." She made sure to give Maria a subtle little shove as she walked around her.

But Maria wasn't about to let Isabel walk away without getting some answers. "Why would you tell Michael about me and Max?" she called after her angrily.

Isabel slowed to a stop and turned back around. "I didn't think it was a big deal," she said. "He's moved on from you. I mean, I've seen his current girlfriend, and she's way hotter than you. No offense."

Maria ignored that jab. "You had to know it would upset him."

Isabel made a face. "I don't care. You know, it kind of upset _me_ when he cheated on me twice, but I got over it."

"Did you?" Maria challenged. It really didn't seem like it.

"Whatever," Isabel dismissed. "Just be flattered, Maria. At least he still cares who you fuck."

Maria took a few steps forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the other girl and growling, "Isabel, you have _no_ right to stick your nose in where it doesn't belong. I know you hate me, but get over it. What happened between you and me and Michael was years ago. We were in high school."

Isabel grunted. "You weren't."

Maria rolled her eyes, feeling as if she were talking to a brick wall. "You know what? Just mind your own business. Anything that's going on in my life . . . just stay out of it." She stomped past Isabel, fighting the urge to lower herself and give her a bigger shove on her way past.

"How did you know I said anything to Michael?" Isabel asked loudly.

Maria froze. _Oh, crap._

"Did you talk to him?"

 _I'm such an idiot,_ she thought. _Such a stupid idiot._ She turned around, trying to look calm and unaffected. "No."

But of course Isabel didn't believe that. She would have been dumb to. "You must have," she said. "I mean, how else would you know . . ." She trailed off, grinning almost devilishly. "Classic. You guys are at it again."

"Isabel-"

"I wonder what Max would say," she cut in firmly, "if he knew you and Michael were . . . reconnecting."

Feebly, she tried to protest, "We're not-"

"Because when I asked Max, he said you guys haven't even seen each other. He said he and Dylan saw Michael at the school, but not you."

Maria felt her stomach start to knot up. This wasn't good. She'd rushed to confront Isabel without even thinking it through, and now she was caught in a lie. And Isabel seemed all too willing to expose her.

"Yeah." Isabel nodded deliberately, delightfully. "I _wonder_ what Max would say."

Exposed and unable to hide it, Maria whirled around and walked off at a brisk pace, trying to block out the sound of Isabel's laughter behind her. She had plenty of errands to run this afternoon, but she was skipping them now. Had to. She had to get to Max and tell him everything before Isabel did it for her.

...

As she drove over to Mrs. Murrow's house, Maria planned out what she was going to say to Max, knowing that, in the moment, it would probably all go right out the window. She'd forget or get flustered and start saying it wrong. Or she'd think of something else she needed to say and add it in at last minute.

When she got to the house, she found him hard at work. It was a small, one-story thing, so he'd nearly finished the front of it already, and it looked good. Almost brand new. Mrs. Murrow would be pleased, or at least as pleased as a grumpy old lady could be.

She hated to have to have this conversation with him, but in the end, she knew she had no one to blame but herself. As nice and convenient as it would have been to say it was Isabel's fault that it had come to this, it wasn't. She had to take all the blame. Isabel, as wretched as she was, was only threatening to bring to light lies Maria never should have told in the first place.

Max looked surprised to see her when she got out of the car. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she returned quietly, her heart racing with nerves. She moved swiftly across the front yard, joining him up by the house, trying to remember what she'd practiced saying on the way over. She couldn't. Great, already she'd forgotten. This would go well.

"What're you doing here?" he asked, setting his white paintbrush down on top of a plastic lid.

"Just thought I'd stop by," she said casually, somehow managing to sound anything _but_ casual.

"You wanted to catch all the excitement here, huh?" He looked down at his paint-splattered hands and wiped them off on his worn, stained jeans. When he looked up at her again, he must have noticed the concern in her eyes—or perhaps it was written all over her face—because he asked, "What's wrong?"

Nothing was wrong yet, but it probably would be in about thirty seconds. "I need to tell you something," she said quietly.

"Is everything okay?"

"That . . . remains to be seen."

He frowned, stared at her for a few seconds, and then his eyes widened. "Are you . . ." He just trailed off, but she knew what he was asking. He thought she was trying to tell him she was pregnant.

" _No,_ " she assured him emphatically. "It's not one of those talks."

" 'cause I was gonna say, if you are, I'd handle it better this time."

She smiled sadly, knowing he would. That was why this sucked so much. Max was a really good guy these days. He didn't deserve someone who would lie to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

A tear spilled over onto her left cheek.

"Hey . . ." He reached out to wipe it away, but she turned her head, not letting him. He looked confused as he withdrew his hand. "It's okay," he assured her.

She shook her head. "It might not be when it's all said and done here."

He frowned again.

"Max . . ." As hard as it was, she knew she had to just say it, get it out there, be truthful about it. Better late than never. "I haven't been completely honest with you," she confessed, ashamed.

"About what?" he asked.

She drew in a shuddering breath. "About Michael."

He flinched, but that was all. Like he was trying not to overreact to it.

"I knew that Michael was in Carlsbad before you saw him at the school," she admitted.

"What?"

"Dylan said something, but I chose to ignore it. And then I saw Michael on campus."

"You _saw_ him?" Max echoed.

"I've _seen_ him," she corrected, "a couple of times."

Max's frown intensified. He was starting to look . . . hurt.

"We have a class together," she squeaked out.

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately." God, she hated this.

"You have a class . . . with him."

She nodded solemnly. "Music Appreciation."

Max snorted. "Michael Guerin appreciates music?"

"Apparently."

"Or does he just appreciate you?"

She'd considered that at first, too, but with everything he'd told her, it just didn't seem likely. "No, it's not like that," she assured him. "He's over me. He has a new girlfriend now. They've been dating for, like, two years now."

"Wow," Max said, and at first she thought he meant _wow_ as in, _Two years. That's a long time._ But when he said, "You sure know a lot about what he's been up to," she realized he was _wowing_ her knowledge of what was going on in Michael's life.

"Well, I mean, we _have_ talked," she admitted, "a little." That fight made it more than a little, though. That had been a full-out heated argument, just like the kind they'd had at the end of their relationship.

"So how long have you known he lives here?" Max questioned.

"I only found out a few days before you did," she said, glad that at least she hadn't known months in advance. "He hasn't been in the music class the whole time."

"But you've seen him," Max recapped. "And talked to him."

She felt like there was a hand clamping down on her nervous heart. "Yes."

Max swallowed hard and nodded contemplatively. "And you didn't tell me," he said. "Why?"

"I don't know." It seemed so obvious now that she should have. "I made a mistake. I'm sorry."

"I don't . . ." He shrugged. ". . . really know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Or you can yell, if you're mad. I wouldn't blame you," she babbled fretfully. "God, I just—I feel _so_ horrible. I lied to you."

He nodded grimly in agreement.

"You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna drop the class," she decided on the spot. "I'll just take it next year."

"No, don't do that," he said.

"No, I want to," she insisted. "It's too weird. It's not right."

"It's your education, Maria. It's too important to you. Don't drop it."

"But I don't want it to bother you."

"The only thing that bothers me is that you kept me in the dark about all this," he said. "I can handle the rest."

He shook her head skeptically. "You shouldn't have to."

"I can handle it." He gave her a long, hard look, like it was important for her to agree with him. Max had come a long way since leaving Roswell. He was no longer the same guy who couldn't control his emotions, who spun out of control when things didn't go his way.

Max bent down and picked up his paintbrush again, turning his back to her. "You should just go," he mumbled. "I've got a lot of work to do."

She nodded, accepting and understanding the fact that he needed some time alone right now, some time to process all of this. It was the least she could give him. "I'm sorry," she reiterated, feeling like it wasn't enough to just apologize. But she had nothing else to offer him as she turned and sulked back to her car.

...

Michael strained as he brought the bench press bar down near his chest and then pushed it back up again. "What am I at?" he managed to ask as he held it there.

Behind him, Steve said, "Oh, you mean . . .? I don't know. I lost count."

"Really?" Feeling tired, Michael struggled to get the bar back in its holding rack. It was loaded down with a hundred and eighty pounds of weight, which was actually twenty pounds lower than the two-hundred he used to drill back in high school. But it was still tiring.

"Hey, I'm not used to this," Steve said, helping him put the bar back in the holder. "I don't work out."

Michael sat up when the bar was secured, wiping the sweat off his brow. "I do. Especially when I'm pissed." Ideally, this was the kind of thing he'd do with Kyle, but . . . not anymore.

"Yeah, I noticed you were kinda on edge," Steve commented. "What's up with that?"

"Nothin'," Michael answered. "I mean, there is something, but . . . you don't wanna hear about it."

"Sure I do." Steve stepped around the machine and stood in front of him with eagerness in his eyes. "Tell me. Come on, my wife is pregnant. All I hear about is how hungry she feels and how sore her back is. I wanna hear somethin' else."

 _Well, you asked for it,_ Michael thought as he reached down for his water bottle and took a quick drink. "Alright, fine. My ex-girlfriend's in town."

"Ooh." Steve tapped his fingers together, intrigued. "This sounds good. Are you talkin' about the girl from high school?"

"Yeah. Not the porn one," he clarified.

"There's another one?"

"Yeah." There were plenty of _girls form high school_ in his past, but he only really cared about one of them anymore.

"Wow," Steve said. "That's interesting. What's she doing here?"

"Living here. Takin' classes. Gettin' under my skin." Michael squirted some water onto his head to cool himself down.

"Does Sarah know?" Steve inquired.

"No. And you can't tell her."

"I won't. But man, that sounds . . . like a recipe for disaster," Steve warned.

Disaster? No, he and Sarah were way too solid for that. But it still wasn't good, and he knew it. "I'm gonna tell her soon," he vowed.

"Yeah, good idea. And what're you gonna do about the ex?"

Michael sighed, wishing he had an answer to that question. "I have no idea."

Steve just nodded for a few seconds, then lowered his voice, as if he were afraid Cheryl was lurking there in the gym, and hesitantly asked, "Is she . . . is she hot?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "Yeah, of course she's hot. That's pretty much my type." Isabel, Maria, Sarah . . . all good-looking girls. There was no doubt about that. "She's an idiot, though."

"Oh, like an airhead?" Steve assumed. "Hot but dumb?"

"No, she's just . . ." Maria _definitely_ wasn't an airhead. She just didn't always make the greatest decisions sometimes. "I don't get what she's doin'. She's hookin' up again with _her_ ex, who also happens to be an ex-addict, who also unfortunately happens to be the father of her son."

Steve's mouth opened up slightly, but he didn't say anything. He looked . . . confused.

"I told you you didn't wanna know," Michael said.

"No, I'm fascinated. I can't believe people actually have lives like this. Cheryl and I must seem boring in comparison."

"No, you and Cheryl . . . you guys are solid," Michael said. "There's nothing wrong with that." Maybe if he and Maria had been a little _more_ solid and predictable . . .

Whatever. It didn't do him any good to think about that now.

"Let me just keep blowin' off some steam, alright?" he said, lying back down on the bench press. He reached his arms up and gripped the cold metal bar.

"Alright," Steve said, shuffling behind the machine again. "Do you want me to keep count this time?" he asked as if helped Michael lifted the bar off its perch.

Michael lowered the weight, grumbling, "Yeah, that'd be nice."

...

Dylan was sleeping peacefully. All night, it was as if he didn't even know that anything was wrong, that there was any tension between his parents that needed to be addressed. And Maria was glad about that. Dylan had dealt with enough stress and anxiety in his life, even if he didn't remember it.

Maria put her son to bed, watched adoringly as he slept for a few minutes, and then got up and left his room, quietly closing the door. She stood in the hallway for a few seconds, listening to the running water of the shower, and then she made the decision to slip into the bathroom and shut that door carefully, too. She locked it, just so Dylan couldn't get in if he woke up.

Max stood beneath the water, rinsing out his hair. She could see the muscles of his shoulders and back even behind the slight distortion of the shower door. Either he hadn't heard her come in or he was waiting for her to get in with him, so she took off her shirt, unhooked her bra, and then pushed her jeans and panties down to her feet. She stepped out of them on tiptoe and crept to the shower door, pulling it open as quietly as she could, and got in, moving in behind Max, wrapping her arms around his midsection.

He immediately stopped running his hands through his hair and lowered them to rest atop hers. His body wasn't tense, and he didn't object to her being in there.

"I'm sorry," she whispered for the umpteenth time, pressing her right cheek against his back.

"You keep saying that," he remarked.

"I keep meaning it." In fact, she felt like she couldn't say it enough. They were just words. What if they couldn't convey how _truly_ sorry she was?

"It's nice to hear," he admitted.

She nuzzled his slippery skin, asking, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

He looked back over his shoulder at her. "Right here? Right now?"

"Well, yeah." It was actually, in a way, the perfect place. They were alone, and with the water running, it would block out anything they were saying, so if Dylan did happen to get out of bed, he wouldn't overhear them.

Max adjusted the temperature of the water so that it was slightly warmer and turned around, putting his hands on her waist. "It's okay, Maria," he told her.

She frowned, putting her hands on his shoulders. "What is?"

"All of it."

She stared at him intently, trying to understand. And she didn't. "No, it's not. I kept a secret from you. I lied to you."

"You did," he acknowledged calmly. "But it's okay."

"How can that be okay?"

"Because I know you were just looking out for me," he said. "You were worried I'd react badly. You were worried it would upset me. But it doesn't."

"Really?" She doubted that. "It doesn't upset you that I lied to you?"

"Well, I wish you hadn't, obviously, but I'm not gonna dwell on it."

"And it doesn't even upset you that Michael and I have a class together?"

"Well . . ." He smoothed one hand around her waist to rest comfortably in the small of her back. "I'm not exactly _thrilled_ about that, but . . . it is what it is. I mean, I always figured we'd run into him again."

"You did?" Funny, she'd never figured that. Somehow, she'd had it in her mind that, when she had driven away from Roswell and left him standing on that lonely street in his blue graduation robe, she'd never see him again. Ever.

That would have been easier.

"Having Michael Guerin around doesn't make me insecure, okay?" Max assured her. "I know who I am. I'm Dylan's dad, I'm your boyfriend, and we're all really happy. Right?"

"Right." The last year and a half had been . . . unexpected, but in a good way. Their lives were good. Dylan had a family. It was what she'd wanted right from the beginning.

"So I'm not . . . threatened," Max went on. "I have no reason to be. I love you, and I love Dylan. That's all that matters."

Was it, though? It sounded nice in theory, but she couldn't help but feel that all of this _did_ matter. Like fate was playing some sick, twisted joke on her or something. She could have gone to college anywhere, and she'd chosen Carlsbad. They could have moved anywhere for her to pursue her education, and this was where they'd ended up. Out of all the places . . .

"I trust you," he said, moving his hand up her back so that he could twist the ends of her wet hair, "just like you trust me."

"Even after I lied?" That was a lot of trust.

"Even after that." He smiled, then warned, "Just don't do it again."

"I won't," she promised. She'd learned her lesson this time. Admitting this secret to Max today had been hard enough; she'd never keep another one from him. "So you forgive me?"

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Of course I do. You've forgiven me for a lot worse."

Well . . . she supposed that much was true. But for her, it had been a process. For him, this was instant. But they were closer now than they ever had been, so it made sense that he wouldn't labor over his forgiveness the way she had. And even though what she had done was bad . . . what he had done was still worse.

"Come here," he said, bending his head to give her a gentle kiss. He pulled her in closer to hug her, and she turned her head to the side again, resting it against his chest, content to just stand there with him for a while and let the water wash over them.

This was nice. The only thing was . . . with him being so trustful and so forgiving, it made it a lot harder to dwell on feeling guilty.

...

Even though he would have gotten more grading done by himself, Alex didn't turn Liz away when she showed up at his office for lunch. It was nice to have someone show up there since none of this students ever did.

She was polishing off a carton of Chinese food and Scarlet was sleeping while Alex worked his way through a small pile of poetry. Some of them were really good, and others were really bad. There really wasn't a whole lot in between.

"What're those?" Liz asked.

"Sonnets."

"Ugh." She made a face. "No thanks."

He marked a major spelling error on the paper in front of him—the guy who had written it had accidentally typed out _penis_ instead of _pen is_. And of course the computer hadn't caught the error. "You really don't like English, do you?" he teased Liz. "What, did you get a B in it or something?"

"No, I got an A," she readily informed him. "I just never liked it. It's so open to interpretation and subjective."

"Yes. Therein lies the appeals."

"No, but there's never really just one right answer. And I don't like that. See, what I like about math and science is that there's this procedure. Every time. You work through the process, and you find the right answer."

"Or you could create your own answer," he said, circling a big red C on top of the spelling-riddled paper. Without the multiple errors, it would have been a decent poem.

"I feel like it's too uncertain," Liz said. "With math and science, you're either obviously right or obviously wrong. There's no grey area."

"Unless you're doing an experiment," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but that's different."

"Really?" He didn't get that. What was so different about someone who was experimenting with a theory in science and someone who was experimenting with an idea through writing?

"Oh, what do I know?" Liz said, sighing. "I'm studying business."

"You know plenty," he said, looking at the name on top of the next paper in his stack. _Isabel._ Well, at least she'd written the required number of lines. He could tell right from the first one, though, that he wasn't going to like it. _Let me take off my clothes and move for you,_ it read. Great, so the whole thing was going to be about porn? Or stripping or whatever the hell else she was into these days? That wasn't exactly the deeply thought-provoking substance he wanted from her. Her slam poetry piece had been so good that he hated to see her lose the momentum.

"Whose is that?" Liz asked, leaning forward to get a better look. "Isabel?"

"Yep." He read on, still unimpressed. There were lots of graphic descriptions of the things she did while the camera was rolling. He felt like he was reading pure smut, and he was actually kind of shocked she would even turn this in to be graded.

"She came into the bakery the other day," Liz said, "wanted to see Scarlet."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. Which I don't have a problem with if her visits are few and far between, because I know she doesn't really have any family anymore. Everyone's, like, disowned her."

"Well, just don't let her babysit or anything," he suggested.

"Oh, well, obviously." Liz tossed her food carton into the nearest trashcan but kept the chopsticks, tapping them together as she spoke. "Anyway, I think I kinda slipped up and told her Max and Maria moved to town. I wasn't aware she didn't already know. So anyway, I think she was trying to, like, cause drama for them or reinsert herself into their lives or something. I don't know. I don't really know the specifics."

"Probably best to just stay out of it," Alex remarked.

"Yeah, I plan to."

"Good." Liz had enough on her plate with her business and her daughter. She didn't need to get dragged into any drama Isabel was trying to start up.

Alex looked back down at the paper and finished reading the last few lines. He was about to slam a failing grade on the top of it when the last line changed his mind. The _very_ last line. Ten syllables that shifted the tone of the entire poem.

 _I wish I was someone else for tonight._

He stared at that line, almost transfixed, wondering if she'd just tossed it in there in a hurried effort to be done, or if she'd actually thought about it beforehand, analyzed it once it was there. He wanted to hope for the latter, because if she had written that for a reason, then that meant that there were still some hidden depth to Isabel Evans, no matter how far down it was.

"Is it good?" Liz asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

It still wasn't her best, wasn't what she was capable of, but that last line salvaged it, gave it meaning it didn't have before. "Yeah," he said, marking a B on the top of the page. "It's good."

...

Even though Maria's mornings were hectic and she was usually one of the _last_ people to get to class, she showed up early to Music Appreciation on Thursday, hoping she'd have a little time to talk to Michael. Just to clear the air. Max knew about it, knew that she'd likely be having some more conversations with him if she stayed in the class. And he was okay with it. More than okay, actually. He'd even said she had to confront and deal with her past, just like he'd had to confront and deal with his own.

She sat in the back row, impatiently waiting for Michael to walk in. But as it drew closer and closer to 9:15 and he still wasn't there, she was beginning to wonder if he'd even show up.

Maybe _he'd_ dropped the class. Maybe he'd been so fed up and so pissed off on Tuesday that he was just done. If that was the case . . . it would simplify things, sure, but . . . it would also leave them with no closure whatsoever. And she didn't want that.

As stupid as it was, she actually got a little excited when she saw him walk in. Or at least _thought_ she saw him. Same spiky hair, same tall frame, but it wasn't him. It was some other guy who just hadn't bothered to comb his hair that morning. Not Michael.

 _Come on, where_ are _you?_ she thought impatiently, looking around. Had he slipped into another seat without her noticing? She didn't see him at all.

The professor came in a minute _after_ 9:15, and because he was late, he started in right away. "Alright, in the spirit of our 1920s music unit, I've got a video to share with you guys today," he said, flipping a switch to project the computer screen up onto the board. He hurriedly navigated to Youtube and searched for _hip hop Charleston_. "I promise, it'll be one of the most amazing things you'll ever see," he vowed.

Maria sighed and sat back, sinking down in her seat a little. This was going to be a long class.

When it was all over, the hip hop Charleston really had been pretty amazing, and the discussions they'd had about prior decades' musical influence on today's tunes would have been riveting if she'd be able to focus on it. But her mind wandered throughout the whole class period, and she found that she couldn't wait to leave.

On her way outside, she took out her phone and contemplated calling Michael. His number, even after all these years, was still right there in her phone. She'd never had it in her heart to remove it, even though she'd tried. But as it turned out, she didn't need to call him, because he was right there. He was lying flat on his back on an expanse of impossibly green grass, probably the fake kind. His hands were behind his head, sunglasses covered his eyes, and oversized Beats headphones circled his head. Even though people were walking all around him, passing from class to class, he looked blissfully oblivious as he relaxed and tuned everything out.

So he'd skipped class. But obviously he had wanted to run into her. Why else would he just be lying there in plain sight?

Maria put her phone away and stuttered down the steps, making her way over to him. She stood over him, casting a shadow, and said, "What're you doing?"

He took off his sunglasses and squinted up at her, even though it wasn't sunny. "I can't hear you."

"I said _what're you doing_?" she asked again, louder this time.

"Appreciating music," he replied easily. "Although I was appreciating it a lot more before you were here."

She rolled her eyes, sensing that he was going to be difficult. Stubborn. Not at all willing to listen to what she had to say. Figuring this might take some time, she tossed her purse down on the ground and reluctantly took a seat beside him. This was stupid, talking to him out here instead of somewhere private where people couldn't overhear them. But then again, maybe being out in public would help. He couldn't very well yell at her out here.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

"What?"

She motioned for him to take his headphones off, and at last he did. He left them draped around his neck, music still playing loudly. Metallica. Of course.

"Can you turn that off?" she asked. It was really distracting.

"Why?"

"Because I wanna talk to you." God, this was like pulling teeth. All she wanted to do was apologize and move on. It should have been so simple.

After what seemed like forever, he tapped a button on his phone to shut the music off, but he stayed lying down. "What do you wanna say?" he nearly demanded.

Her mouth felt dry, and she wondered why she hadn't rehearsed this, practiced what she would tell him the way she'd practiced what she would tell Max. "I'm sorry I wasn't totally straight-up with you," she apologized, and she really did mean it, genuinely. "I shouldn't have misled you about me and Max. I should have just been honest with you about how involved we are right from the start."

"Involved," Michael echoed, his face tight, as though the word left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I just knew you'd react badly," she tried to explain. "I knew you'd be upset."

He propped himself up on his forearms and said, "Oh, so you were . . . you were just tryin' to protect me?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Uh-huh. And how's that workin' out for you?"

She sighed, deflated. Why couldn't he just stop being a jackass and make this easy? Accept her apology and get over it? "Look, Michael . . . I don't know what you want me to say. I'm not gonna apologize for being with Max, because he's a really good guy now, and things have been really good."

Michael snorted and shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"What?"

"I just . . ." He sat all the way up, his shoulders tense, body language angry. "I don't know how you can look past every bad thing he's ever done to you. I mean, this is the guy who was never there for you when Dylan was born. This is the guy who was willing to do everything he could to keep us from moving to Alabama and taking Dylan with us."

"He's not the same guy," she insisted.

"Yeah, he is!"

"Don't yell." It would be embarrassing to get into a huge fight in front of all these people.

He took a breath, paused for a few seconds, then continued on, his voice lower this time. "This is the _exact_ same guy who came into my house, took Dylan, and drove off with him. How the _hell_ could you get over that?"

"It took time." Her mom hadn't understood it, either, not at first. Really, the only person who understood perfectly was Liz, because she'd had to work through a similar process with Max.

"How much time?" Michael asked. "A couple weeks, a couple days?"

"Months," she informed him. "He just showed up one night in Houston at this pizza place where I was working, and . . . I mean, I didn't talk to him. I didn't wanna talk to him; I didn't want anything to do with him. But then he showed up the next week, too, and eventually . . ." She trailed off, not sure how much he wanted to hear.

"The rest is history?' he filled in agitatedly.

She sighed, unable to explain how it had happened that she'd really opened up her life to Max Evans again. All she knew was that it had happened gradually and naturally and that, so far, she had no reason to regret it.

...

" _Well, that was fun," Max remarked._

" _Yeah, it was," Maria agreed as the two of them exited NRG stadium. A lot of other fans had already left, because the game hadn't gone in favor of the home team, but Maria had been glad to stick around for the whole duration with Max. They'd had a good time._

" _Preseason's kinda lame, but it's still a good atmosphere," Max went on._

" _Yeah." Maria had never been one to follow the NFL, but living in Houston was definitely getting her intrigued. The Texans were hardly a good football team, but it was nice to have a team to root for. She'd gone all out tonight, purchasing and wearing a dark blue Texans t-shirt with red and white stripes on the sleeves. On the front was the bullhead logo, and on the back was the last name of the team's franchise player, Watt, and his number, ninety-nine. Add in jeans and some eye black, and she looked like a real football fan. Max had told her she looked cute._

 _Not that she cared._

" _I didn't know you knew anything about football," Max said, dropping his empty popcorn bag into a trash can as they walked past._

 _She didn't want to think back to that Alabama spring game she and Michael had gone to over a year ago, but that was exactly what she did. She remembered sitting there in the stands with him, needing him to explain every play, every signal by every referee, every rule. That had been a fun time, too._

 _She pushed the memory out of her mind and said, "Well, Dylan likes it, so I gotta know something about it."_

" _Right." Max took off his Texans hat, holding it in his hands, staring at it intently as he walked. "You know, speaking of Dylan . . ." he said leadingly._

 _Maria tensed as he slowed down and eventually stopped altogether, standing in front of her. He looked like he wanted to ask her something, and she had a feeling she knew exactly what it was._

" _Next week's the last home game of the preseason," he mumbled, moving the hat around in his hands. "I've got three tickets, so maybe we can bring Dylan along." He immediately shrugged as if it were just a small suggestion. "I don't know. If you want."_

" _Max . . ." That was a big step, one she just wasn't sure she was ready to take yet. "I don't know."_

" _I get that it's a lot to ask," he acknowledged. "I just thought . . . we've been hanging out for four months now. That's a pretty long time, and things have been goin' well."_

" _Yeah, they have been," she agreed. "Really well. It's just . . ." She couldn't help but wonder if part of the reason why they'd actually managed to have fun together and enjoy each other's company was because they hadn't dived into any serious territory yet. And what would happen if they did?_

" _Why don't we just try it?" he urged. "Just to see how it goes."_

" _What if it goes badly?" she asked._

" _Why would it? You said Dylan doesn't remember anything about that night, right?"_

 _She let out a shaky sigh. "No."_

" _So it'll be like he's meeting me for the first time. And we don't even have to tell him I'm his dad. Just introduce me as Max. And if that's what he knows me as and calls me for the rest of time, that's fine with me. I just wanna be part of his life."_

 _He sounded so . . . not desperate, but determined. Like he really believed in this, really wanted it. Like he really wasn't going to allow himself to mess it up._

 _She cocked her head to the side and stared at him intently, curiously, weighing the pros and cons in her head. On the pro side was the fact that he was Dylan's biological father, and he really did seem like he was a different guy. A much better one. He was the kind of guy Dylan would like having in his life. But on the con side was just the uncertainty of it all. This couldn't be an act that he was upholding—no one could just_ act _decent for four months. But still . . . what if it didn't last?_

" _We're friends, right?" he said, smiling encouragingly._

 _She laughed a little, so unused to that word. "Shockingly." It wasn't just that she'd never envisioned being Max's friend; it was that her life had contained so few true friends. There was pretty much him, Michael, and then a few girls from middle school whose faces she wouldn't recognize today. But the Max Evans she'd come to know these past few months_ was _her friend, as hard as that was to believe, and in a weird,_ weird _way, she was grateful for it._

" _And you like me again," he stated. "So the real question is . . . do you trust me?"_

 _She inhaled shakily, trying to feel out the answer to that question. Trust was huge, and it was something she'd learned to give out very sparingly. And it was hard to trust someone who had done so much to hurt you, so much to hurt Dylan._

 _Yet there she was, standing outside a football stadium with him, decked out in fan attire, actually contemplating if it was truly possible. That had to count for something._

" _I think I do," she said, not quite willing to confirm it totally and completely yet. "But that scares me. And it's confusing."_

 _Max swallowed hard and nodded solemnly, as if some of that determination of his was starting to fade. "It's okay," he said. "I shouldn't have asked." He forced a sad smile, then put his hat back on, deliberately trying to pull it down far so that it partially hid his eyes._

 _She frowned, not sure if she was making the right decision when she squeaked out, "Max?"_

" _Yeah?" He was trying to keep an unemotional look on his face, but it was obvious that he was disappointed she hadn't jumped on board with his idea._

Oh, please let this be the right thing to do, _she thought, working up all her courage. "Okay," she decided. "Maybe Dylan can tag along next week."_

 _For a second, Max looked stunned. But then, when it sank in, his eyes lit up, and a smile spread across his face. For some reason, that made her smile, too._

...

Michael sat stiff as a board, but his face conveyed a range of emotion. Disbelief. Fury. Disappointment. And a whole lot more. "So just like that, huh?" he snarled. "A few football games, dinner dates, and smooth words, and all of a sudden he's got his foot in the door again."

She rolled her eyes, figuring that he wouldn't get it no matter how many times she tried to explain. "Look, I don't expect you to understand. I barely understood it myself. But Max got his life on track and figured out who he is. Who he wants to be. Not unlike someone else I know." She gave him a pointed look.

He made a disgusted face. "Don't even compare him to me."

"Why not? You guys aren't that different." Rough past, positive changes . . . she could think of stranger comparisons. "I know that's not what you wanna hear right now, but it's true."

"No, I might've been a loser back in high school, but I wasn't like him," he argued.

"But you weren't like you are now, either. You've changed, so why isn't Max allowed to do the same?"

"No, he's allowed. I just don't think he really has." Michael shrugged unapologetically.

"How would you know? You don't know him," she persisted. "Not really. You know the guy from the bridge that night. But that was the worst version of him."

"Yeah, he's due for a relapse, don't you think?"

She wanted to yell at him for having the audacity to make a joke out of that, out of something so serious. He of all people, having grown up with an alcoholic for a father, should have known better than to make a joke out of addiction. "Look, the bottom line is, Max and Dylan and I are a family now," she stated plainly. "It's the decision I made. I'm sorry if you can't accept that."

"Oh, I can accept it," he claimed. "I just can't respect it."

"Fine, you don't have to." She blinked back the tears that were building up, threatening to fall over. She wasn't sure why, but hearing him say that, that he didn't _respect_ her decision . . . it hurt more than he could possibly know.

Wordlessly, he took his headphones off of his neck and unhooked them from his iPhone, dropping them into his backpack. Like he was about to leave and leave her wondering where they stood again.

She knew she couldn't let him go without clearing one very pertinent thing up first. "But as for this idea of me forgiving Max when I haven't forgiven you . . ." She heard the emotion in her own voice, and it startled her. She pushed it down and kept going. "I took the final step in forgiving Max that night at the football game. But Michael . . ." She looked down at her lap, her voice barely above a whisper when she told him, "I forgave you a long time ago."

He was too angry, though. Even that couldn't seem to satisfy him. "Great," he muttered, getting to his feet. "Thanks for that, Maria." He slung his backpack over one shoulder and started heading off.

Clamoring to her feet, she called after him, "Michael!"

Reluctantly, he slowed and turned back around.

She flapped her arms against her sides, unsatisfied with the way this conversation was ending. "Is this really how it's gonna be?" Was everything going to be an argument from here on out? Was everything he said going to be some dig at Max?

"What else do you expect?" he grunted.

"I don't know." She hadn't expected any of this. She'd expected to move to Carlsbad, take classes, and live her life. Nothing more. But then he came along and caught her all off guard. "Is it impossible to think that we might actually be able to be . . . friends?" She cringed as she said the word, because at this point, it sure _seemed_ impossible.

"Were we ever _just_ friends?" he asked back.

"We were once," she said. "Back before we were ever together." She had fond memories of those days, of helping him study in the Crashdown, of him walking her home as far as she would let him. Of bringing him root beer instead of actual beer. It hadn't taken her long to develop a crush on him, because he was so damn charismatic; but even then, even after she'd grown aware of her feelings for him . . . he'd been her _best_ friend.

"Fine," he decided unenthusiastically. "We'll be friends."

She wanted to be hopeful about that, but it was hard to be when he walked off without one friendly wave goodbye, or one friendly smile, or even once bit of friendliness in his tone. She stood and watched him go, exhaling a defeated, exhausted sigh.

It was starting to seem like finding a place for Michael in her life was going to be just as long of a process as finding a place for Max had been.


	18. Chapter 18

Another day, another disappointment. It totally wasn't cheery to think that way, but that was how Tess felt when she returned home. She'd tried to stand up to Stephanie and Kristen today when they'd been berating the girls at practice, but they'd basically just ignored her, or talked over her. It made her feel pathetic. How had she gone from being the vibrant, confident captain of the Roswell Comets cheer squad to being . . . this?

She walked in the door, surveying the vast array of bills in her hand. She only got the mail once a week because it was so damn depressing. There were so many things that needed to be paid. This month, she'd have to call and ask her own parents for help. Next month, she'd call Kyle's dad and ask him.

Speaking of Kyle . . . he was asleep on the couch. Not even lying down, just sitting there with his head tilted back, mouth slightly open. The TV was still on, and he had the remote in his hand.

He probably hadn't gotten up off that couch once today.

Fighting back the urge to just scream at the top of her lungs and jolt him awake, Tess slipped into the kitchen, weeding the junk mail out of the stuff that actually mattered. She made two piles on the counter but stopped when she got to a letter addressed to her. It was from NMSU.

 _What is this?_ she thought, but she already knew. She'd applied last month, just on a whim, thinking that it somehow might be possible for her to take a class or two during the spring semester. Maybe a theater class or a dance one. Something where she could be creative and expressive and learn while having fun. Fun was a distant memory for her at this point.

When she opened the letter, it was the acceptance she'd been hoping to receive. They wanted her to attend. And why wouldn't they? She'd been a good student in high school—not on Isabel's level academically, but at least she hadn't made porn.

But now . . . staring at that acceptance letter, she wondered why she'd ever even bothered to apply in the first place. It wasn't feasible. Despite living in a college town, she just didn't have the money, the time, or the energy to devote to it. So she folded that letter back up, stuffed it in the envelope, and put it in the junk pile. And with one swift sweep of her hand across the counter, she pushed the whole pile into the trash, telling herself that it didn't matter. It was just one more thing in her life that had to be thrown away.

...

"Are you sure you wanna eat here tonight?" Sarah questioned as she and Michael followed the hostess back to an open table at Yellowbrix Restaurant. "I thought you'd wanna eat here on your birthday."

"I wanna stay in on my birthday," he informed her, adding quietly, "maybe fool around with you."

"Hmm." She smiled. "Well, that _does_ sound fun."

"Doesn't it?"

"And we barely have any food in the fridge, so it's not like I could've cooked something great tonight anyway."

Michael laughed at that. "You could cook something great out of dirt and water."

"Well, I don't know about that."

His eyes immediately locked onto a horrible sight as they shuffled up to their table. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Max and Maria were here, sitting on the other side of the restaurant, over by the window. Dinner for two, it seemed, because Dylan wasn't with them. They were talking, and Maria was smiling, and thankfully, neither one of them noticed him.

"Here you go," he hostess said, laying their menus out on the table. "Enjoy."

"Thank you," Sarah said, beginning to take a seat.

"Wait a minute." Michael grabbed her arm and lifted her back up, asking the hostess, "Is there any way we can sit back in that little alcove instead?" He needed to be somewhere where Maria couldn't see him, because that was too risky. If she or Max came up to him and said something, Sarah wouldn't know what to think.

"Sure, come with me," the hostess said, picking up the menus again. She walked at a brisk pace through the rows of tables and to the back.

"But Michael, this is our spot," Sarah protested as he pressed gently on her back, urging her forward. "That's where we sat on our first date."

"I know, but I kinda wanna switch it up." He felt relieved when they made it back to the alcove. Max surely hadn't seen him, because his back was to him. And Maria must not have seen him, either, because she was now laughing at something Max had said.

Whatever. The guy wasn't even funny.

"Alright, _here_ you go," the hostess said, once again setting their menus down on the table for them. "Your waiter will be with you shortly. You two enjoy."

"Thank you," Sarah said again, starting to take a seat on the wrong side of the table.

"Oh . . ." Michael pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit there instead.

"Oh. Okay." She switched over to the other side of the table, the side where _her_ back would be to Max and Maria. _Perfect._ Now if either Maria or Max noticed them and started to saunter on over there, he could give them a warning look and get them to go away.

"See? It's cozy back here," he remarked, sitting down across from her.

"I guess," she said, flipping open her menu. "What're you having?"

"Uh . . ." This was going to be hard to play it cool tonight and not get caught looking over her shoulder, spying on the gruesome twosome. "I don't know. What're you having?"

"Maybe a salad . . ." she pondered, her eyes glued on the menu.

"Then I'll have that, too." He frowned Max reached over and caressed Maria's hand across the table. What the hell was _that_?

" _You'll_ have a salad?" she asked skeptically, giving him a raised-eyebrow look.

"Sure," he said, trying to cover his own distractedness as he waved a waiter carrying a bottle of wine over to them. "Or a steak."

"I might have a steak," she said. "We could split a salad."

"I don't want a salad."

"But you just said-"

Thankfully, the waiter was at their table just in the nick of the time with a smile on his face. "Yes? Can I help you?" he asked.

"Can I get one of those?" he asked, pointing to the bottle. Sarah loved white wine, and even though he was partial to the red, he'd drink this for her.

"Of course," the waiter said. "One bottle?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be right back."

Sarah grinned and gave him a little kick under the table when the waiter was gone. "Bad," she teased. "You're not twenty-one quite yet."

"Close enough." He hadn't been carded once since his seventeenth birthday, and back then, his fake ID alias of Ricardo Fuego had usually gotten the job done. Only on rare occasions had anyone blocked his effort to score an alcoholic beverage, and one of those people had been . . .

 _Maria._ He snuck another glance at her when Sarah's eyes drifted down to her menu again. He hated seeing her out with Max. It just didn't seem right. And what was worse was that they looked like they were on a date. She was wearing a fancy black dress, and Max had on a casual suit.

Michael looked down at his own outfit, suddenly wishing he'd tried a little harder. Not for Maria, but for Sarah. She was donning this sexy, strapless green dress, and he was just wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He was underwhelming.

"Are you sure you wanna pay for a whole bottle of wine?" she asked, trailing her finger down the menu as she perused some of the sandwiches.

"Yeah, it's fine." Hell, he was probably going to be the one to drink most of it.

"If we each get a steak, this is gonna be expensive," she warned.

"That's alright." Even though he'd planned on offering up a more engaging conversation tonight, he felt like he was speechless as he helplessly watched Max and Maria both lean forward, meeting halfway across the table, and kiss. Just like any regular couple would do. Except this couple made him sick to his stomach. He wouldn't be able to eat half his steak at this rate.

"Should I maybe get seafood?" Sarah asked, and he immediately jerked his attention back to her.

"Get whatever you want," he urged, finally picking up his own menu. He peered down hard at all the food items listed there, determined not to look up again until he had to. And even then, he was only going to look at Sarah this time, only going to focus on her. Because nothing and no one sitting behind her really mattered anymore.

...

Michael wasn't 'appreciating music' outside today. There was some hippie-wannabe sitting on the grass instead today, strumming an acoustic guitar that was _so_ out of tune, it actually made Maria's ears hurt. He was singing a self-written song about the greatness of water. Maria headed right past him and scampered into Lecuona Hall.

She was cutting it close. The professor was already there, but he appeared to be having technical problems with some online video he was trying to show them to start the class. Since he was hunched over the computer, attempting to figure it out, Maria slinked into the room unnoticed and subtly looked for Michael. There he was, right in the back. Maria quickly sat down beside him, but he didn't say anything.

 _What a great friend you are,_ she thought sarcastically, wishing he would at least _try_ to make an effort. _Way to go._

"Saw you at the restaurant last night," she remarked, figuring it was okay to start up a conversation since their professor didn't seem to be having any luck getting his video to play. Other people in the class were talking, too.

"What restaurant?" he asked.

She gave him a look. "Are you seriously gonna play dumb with me?"

"It's not hard for me to play dumb," he said. Once he realized that he'd basically just insulted himself, he scrunched up his face in confusion and said, "Wait."

She smiled and laughed a little. "I noticed you when I was about halfway through my dessert." It had startled her in the moment, but she'd hidden it well. Max hadn't seen Michael there, but she knew Michael had seen her and Max. From where he was sitting, he would have had the perfect view of them.

"Was that Sarah with you?" she asked hesitantly. He and the dark-haired girl had definitely looked couple-y. They hadn't kissed or overtly flirted or anything like that. It was just a vibe.

When he didn't answer her question, she asked it again, "Was that her?"

Finally, he nodded. "Yeah."

Maria nodded, too, taking that in. So _that_ was Sarah. She hadn't pictured her like that. As awful and self-centered as it sounded, she'd sort of figured that Michael would date another blonde. Like her.

"She's pretty," Maria commented. "Or I mean, she _seems_ pretty. I couldn't really see anything except the back of her head. She has nice hair." It was this shiny shampoo commercial stuff. Totally unbelievable that some people actually had hair like that.

"She's beautiful," Michael agreed. "What were you and Max doin' there?"

Oh, of course he'd shifted the conversation to the two of them. Leave it to Michael. "We were . . . celebrating," she told him vaguely.

"Celebrating what?"

"Just . . . his birthday," she lied easily.

"Then where was Dylan?"

 _Dammit._ So much for that. "Okay, fine, it was actually our anniversary," she informed him bluntly. "One year since we officially got back together."

"Mmm." Michael pressed held his mouth together tightly, angrily. "How sweet."

It actually had been. Max had surprised her with that dinner last night, and Liz had been nice enough to agree to watch Dylan. "Can't you just be happy for me?" she whined.

"Nope."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head in annoyance, convinced that he had to be the most stubborn, annoying person on the planet.

The spent the rest of the class in blissful silence, because the professor got the video to work, and they watched. Or at least Michael watched, because Maria mostly dazed off. Michael, however, took notes on the damn video and everything. _Notes._ That alone had her fascinated. Since when did Michael Guerin pay attention, let alone write everything down so he could review it later?

This was craziness.

Once class got out, she had to walk extra fast to keep up with him. One of his steps was like two of hers. But she wasn't about to just let him take off and get away. There was a lot that she wanted to say to him, a lot that she hadn't gotten to say because their conversations had been so heavily dominated by Max lately.

"Hey," she said, struggling to keep up with him as he strode down the long hall towards the exit, "in the interest of being your _friend_ . . . I wanted to say I'm really sorry. About your dad."

That got him to slow down a bit. Not stop entirely, but at least slow down.

"I can't believe . . ." She shuddered just thinking about it. Andy Guerin had never been a big fan of hers, and she'd never gotten to know him well. But still . . . it was hard to think that he was just gone. "I'm sorry."

He snorted. "Why? I'm not."

She gave him a hard, incredulous look. "Michael . . ." How could he say that?

"What? He hated me," Michael reminded her. "And I hated him."

Sometimes she hated her mom, but that didn't mean she didn't love her deep down. "But he's still your dad," she pointed out.

"He _was_ ," Michael corrected, practically shoving open the big double doors that led them outside. "He's not anymore."

"He always will be," she argued. Maybe that wasn't what he wanted to hear, but it was the truth.

He stopped right out there on the steps, staring out across campus, looking contemplative. She wished she could read his mind, see what he was thinking. Chances were, whenever he thought about his dad, it was a turbulent, confusing thing for him.

"I'm glad he's gone," he muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear. "I don't care if it makes me an ass to say that."

It didn't, but it was still a brutal admission. But it was okay. He had earned the right to feel however he wanted to feel about that man, and she figured she shouldn't judge him for it. "It must've been hard on your mom," she noted, gently seguing when she added, "and Tina."

Michael held onto both straps of his backpack and looked down at his feet glumly. "Yep."

Maria tugged down on the sleeves of her shirt, hesitantly asking, "So she's really . . ."

There was no need to finish the question. He just nodded silently.

She sighed heavily, hating the thought of it. It filled her with dread for everyone involved. Mostly for Tina, but for that little baby, too. Everything was going to be so terrifying and uncertain.

Talking about something other than Max must have softened him up a little, because he took off his backpack and sat down on the steps, and he didn't object when she sat down beside him. Other students stepped around them, entering the building without paying much attention to them. No pointed fingers, no gossip, no Twitter pictures. It was nice.

"God, she's so young," Maria lamented. "She's younger than I was."

"She's naïve," Michael added.

"So does that mean . . . she's gonna try to raise it?"

"I guess." He shrugged. "Who knows? I'm tryin' to convince her to give it up for adoption."

"Yeah." That would be the best choice for someone like her. That was the best choice for anyone her age. "Who's the father?" she asked, not to be nosy, but just because she cared and wanted to know. "Is it that kid she used to date? What was his name? Todd? Paul? Something."

"No, apparently they were just a fifth grade thing." He rolled his eyes, as if the whole thing annoyed him. "This kid Nicholas . . . he's in ninth grade. They started dating at her first junior high dance last year." His eyes took on a sad gleam as he recalled, "I remember her calling me when she got home. And she was telling me about him, about how he asked her to dance for every slow song. She said it was the best night of her life."

Maria felt tears sting the corners of her eyes, but she dabbed them away. "Sounds familiar," she said. She'd had several 'best nights of her life' getting high and partying with Max, or at least she'd thought so. But now, looking back at the nights she actually _could_ remember . . . they didn't seem great at all. It all seemed like a different life, a waste of one.

"Do you think we're partly to blame?" she whimpered worriedly, unable not to voice that fear. Ever since Michael had told her about Tina, she'd been thinking about it, wondering.

"Probably," he admitted. "I don't know."

"Because we . . ." She wasn't exactly trying to walk down memory lane with him, but the truth was, when she thought of the best nights of _her_ life, those nights with him were the ones that came to mind. And there had been _so_ many of them. Right under Andy and Krista's roof.

"We had sex a lot," he stated simply. It was like it wasn't even hard for him to say it.

"Well . . ." That was one way of putting it. "Yeah, we weren't exactly subtle. She knew what was going on. And your mom always worried about it."

"I know."

"We were irresponsible," she regretted. "I mean, not necessarily with each other, but with her. We knew she was young and impressionable, but we were just so wrapped up in each other . . ."

"We set a bad example," he filled in.

"Yeah. And I feel horrible." That had never been her intention. She should have listened to Krista closer and made _sure_ Tina had been completely oblivious. "I feel like she saw us together, and she saw us with Dylan, and we were really happy. I mean, we got _engaged_." She subconsciously touched her barren left ring finger, where that small diamond used to sit until she'd accidentally lost it down the drain. "You wanted to _adopt_ Dylan."

"I know."

"The whole thing was, like, this whirlwind, and she must have thought it looked so romantic."

He surprised her when he interjected, "It _was_ romantic." But then he added, "At the time."

She nodded sadly. "Yeah, at the time." Tina probably hadn't dwelled on the part where it had all blown up in their faces, though. Young girls didn't do that. Young girls believed in fairytales and grew up too fast in order to try to live one. Tina was just like her in that regard, just a little bit younger and probably even more unprepared.

"Michael . . ." She wanted to apologize for this, too, for what _her_ presence in his life may have irrevocably done to Tina's. But she didn't get the chance, because his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, and she peered over at the screen. _Crazy Girl?_ Was that Isabel or something?

"Sarah," he said, his thumb hovering over the answer button for a second before he suddenly pressed _ignore._ He put his phone back in his pocket, grabbed his backpack, and got up. "I gotta go," he announced, quickly traversing the steps.

"Wait!" she called, getting up and hurrying after him. She managed to catch up with him before he'd gone too far. "Um . . ." Maybe it wasn't her place to ask, but wanted to know. "Have you told Sarah that you and I are . . . talking again?" She was going to feel really bad if he'd been completely honest with her and she hadn't been with Max.

Looking her right in the eye, he answered, "Of course."

She smiled politely. _Of course._

...

Sarah never ceased to amaze Michael. She had this endless energy that he really admired and sometimes envied. Her job was way tougher than his was, and her classes were way more demanding, yet she rarely was lazy or boring or enthused. Tonight was no different. She literally bounced up and down on the bed, entertaining the hell out of him with her adorableness as he just lay back and watched her. "Happy birthday!" she exclaimed. "Happy birthday!"

"It's not my birthday yet," he reminded her. "Not until midnight."

"Midnight, huh?" She jumped on either side of him, them plopped down and proposed, "Well, we'll just have to stay awake and ring it in like it's the new year."

"That's four hours," he pointed out. "Long time."

"It is," she agreed, lying down next to him. " _Whatever_ will we do to pass the time?"

He grinned, knowing _exactly_ what they could and would do. "I don't know," he said. "Got any bright ideas?"

"Well . . ." She rubbed her leg against his, and that sensation alone was enough to drive him insane. He'd stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt, and he probably looked like a slob; but _she_ was wearing one of his button-down shirts and silky pink panties, and she looked hot as hell. "Whatever it is has to be time-consuming," she declared. "Obviously fun. And something we can do together."

"That narrows it down."

"It really does." She was starting to get that gleam in her eyes, and when she lay down on her back and arched her chest up, he nearly lost it. "Wanna open your first present?" she asked seductively. And as if she were embarrassed by being seductive, she followed that up with a giggle.

"Sure." He propped himself up and got to work on the shirt, undoing the first button, then the second, getting sneak peeks of her skin underneath. No bra. Perfect.

Or . . . maybe not so perfect, because for some reason, when he got down to the third button, which was just around her bellybutton, he hesitated, his fingers playing idly with the fabric.

"Don't stop," she said, squirming a bit.

He wanted to keep going, but it was like . . . all of a sudden, there was just this block. A big fucking stop sign in his head that wouldn't allow him to continue on. Here she was, sprawled out for him, all eager to be with him tonight, and he was keeping things from her. Important things. Things that she deserved to know.

Things that would upset her.

"Michael, don't tease me," she said, reaching down to pop open the button herself.

He moved her hand aside before she had a chance to. Well, there was probably no going back now. Hesitating before sex was something he just _didn't_ do. He'd already given her enough reason to be curious at this point.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

 _Crap._ Why did this have to happen to him tonight of all nights? Why right here, right now? Why in this moment of all moments did he have to have an attack of the conscience and spill the beans? Couldn't he have had that right away at the beginning of all of this?

Cursing himself for not just being honest right from the start, he sat up, trying to find the words to explain something that might be very difficult for her to hear. He wanted to be honest, but he didn't want to hurt her.

"Michael?" She sounded genuinely concerned now as she sat up beside him. Her playfulness was gone, and her hand was on his shoulder.

"I need to tell you something," he revealed quietly, ashamed.

She didn't spook or get panicked or assume the worst. Instead, she merely encouraged him by saying, "Okay."

He shook his head. _Not okay._ It wasn't okay. "You're not gonna like it," he warned.

"Michael, what is it? Just tell me."

He didn't want to. But it was time. It was past time.

Sighing, feeling weighed down with a sense of guilt he'd somehow managed to overlook until now, he said, "It's Maria."

"Maria?" she echoed. She said it casually, questioningly, but he knew she realized right away who he was talking about. "Your ex-girlfriend?"

He nodded glumly. "She moved here."

"To Carlsbad." She took that in, rubbing his shoulder now, as if _he_ would somehow need support because of this. Always taking care of him. That was Sarah. But she was also smart, which was why she pointedly asked, "And you know this _how_?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to look her in the eye when he admitted, "I have a class with her."

Sarah stopped rubbing his shoulder, and gradually, she withdrew her hand altogether. She put her hands in her lap and looked down, suddenly very quiet. Too quiet. At last, she squeaked out a tiny, "What?" and it almost broke his heart.

"I'm sorry." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, feeling like he didn't even deserve to be close to her.

"I don't understand," she whimpered, tucking her legs beneath her. "You have a class with her and you didn't tell me?"

He nodded remorsefully.

"Which one?"

 _The one where I don't pay any attention to what we're learning,_ he thought before responding, "Music Appreciation."

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and quickly got up off the bed. Almost as if she were self-conscious suddenly, she re-buttoned the shirt she was wearing. "So you're taking that class because she is?" she asked. "You don't really need to?"

She was exactly right, and he had that whole honesty thing going . . . but somehow, admitting that much just seemed a little _too_ honest. It would freak her out, and it would be hard for her to understand that he was in that class mostly just because of . . . curiosity. Because seeing Maria again after all these years had just . . . intrigued him.

"I needed a fine arts class," he maintained. "I didn't know she was in it until I showed up for my first day."

She breathed a small sigh of relief, but she still looked nervous. And not very happy with him. Frowning, she deduced, "So you've known she's in Carlsbad for . . . what, a couple weeks now?"

"Pretty much."

"And you're just now telling me?"

"I'm sorry." He had a feeling that he was going to be saying that a lot tonight.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I don't know." There was no good reason, no explanation, nothing he could say to justify the secrecy. He was in the wrong here.

"You should've told me."

"I know," he acknowledged. "I know I should've. There's no excuse. I just—my head was spinning when I saw her again. 'cause I never thought I would. And then all of a sudden, there she was, and there was Dylan, and-"

"Dylan?" she cut in meekly. "Is that . . . that's her son, right?"

"Right."

"Where did you see him?"

He exhaled heavily again and revealed, "At the elementary school."

"The school," she echoed. "He goes there?"

"Yeah."

She fell silent for a moment, and he could see that she was thinking. Smart girl that she was, it didn't take her long to start putting some pieces of the puzzle together. "Oh my god," she said, holding her hand to her forehead. "So that day that you freaked out on that guy? Who was that, Michael? Was that, like, Maria's new boyfriend or something?"

 _New boyfriend, old boyfriend . . ._ either term was applicable. "That was Dylan's father," he explained. "Max. He's the guy who . . . you know."

"From out on the bridge that night."

"Yeah." No need to go into any detail. He'd told her all about it years ago.

"What was he doing there?"

Michael shrugged, trying to disguise his anger. "He's Dylan's dad. He and Maria are back together."

"And when you saw him, you just . . ." She trailed off.

"It was just like an instinct." He'd made a lot of mistakes these past couple of weeks, but as far as he was concerned, pummeling Max wasn't one of them. "Do you get that?"

"I mean . . . I guess," she said weakly. "I've never had that kind of bond with a kid before, though. I . . ." A small cry escaped her, and she got this pained look on her face. He felt horrible that he was the reason for it being there, so he walked around the bed and tried to reach out to her.

"No, just . . ." She backed away, holding her hands up. "Michael, what I _don't_ get is that you didn't tell me about any of this. These three people had this huge impact on your life—you loved two of them and hated one—and all of a sudden they're back in your life, and you don't tell me?" She looked at him incredulously, accusatorily. "I mean, God, you'd be the _first_ person I'd tell!"

"Sarah . . ." He tried to take her hand, but she moved past him and stormed around the other side of the bed to the dresser, pulling open the second drawer.

"God, and here I am, dressing up for you, dancing around, trying to _seduce_ you?" She quickly yanked on a pair of black drawstring shorts to cover herself up from him some more. "How could you do this, Michael? How could you lie to me?"

"I didn't mean to," he insisted.

"But you did." There were tears in her eyes that almost killed him. The longer she looked at him, the closer they came to spilling over. "I kept asking you if you were okay, asking if something was wrong, and you let me think you were just stressed out about Tina's situation."

"I am."

"But then there's this. And you didn't say _anything_." She looked down at the floor, her hair falling forward to slide her face. He wasn't sure if she was crying until he saw her wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"Baby, I'm sorry," he apologized again, walking towards her. She still wouldn't let him get close, though. "You gotta believe me."

"No, I do believe you," she whimpered. "I'm just mad at you."

"There's nothing going on with me and Maria."

She gave him a strange look. "I didn't say there was."

"I know, I just . . ." He felt flustered, and that made him think anything he said was going to sound lame. "I wanted to make sure you knew . . ."

"I _know_ , Michael." For some reason, this was making her cry even harder. "You lied to me, but you're not cheating on me. How can you even think I would assume that? Don't you know me better than that?"

 _Oh, shit,_ he thought. This was all going to hell in a handbasket. Try as he might, he just couldn't think of a way to salvage anything about this night.

"All you had to do was tell me," she said, "right from the start." Stomping past him on her way to the bathroom, she literally stiff-armed him like he used to do to guys on the football field. She flipped on the bathroom light and looked at herself in the mirror, shaking her head, wiping away the mascara tracks that had started to run. "I wouldn't have been angry," she told him. "I would've helped you deal with it."

Slowly, he shuffled into the bathroom with her, standing behind her, looking at their pitiful reflections in the mirror. They didn't look like that happy couple they usually were. She looked more hurt than he'd ever seen her, and he looked like . . . well, he just looked like a dick.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted, "except I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know," she muttered agitatedly. "I just . . ." Pressing her lips tightly together, she trailed off.

"You can be mad at me as long as you want," he said, tentatively rubbing her shoulder.

She flinched away from him and stomped out of the bathroom. "I can't do this," she said. "I can't be around you right now."

He followed her out, willing to follow her wherever she went. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know, just out," was her swift response. "Out for a walk."

"What?" Not gonna happen. "I'm not gonna let you go 'out for a walk' on campus at night by yourself. No way."

"I need to clear my head," she insisted. "I need some space to process this."

"Fine, then I'll go for a walk," he offered. That sounded like a much safer idea.

"Maybe you should . . ." She looked down at her feet, then back up at him sadly, and suggested, "Maybe you should walk over to Tess and Kyle's and . . . spend the night there."

Hearing her say that made him feel like she had her hand around his heart and had just squeezed violently. Since they'd moved into this place last year, he and Sarah had rarely ever spent a night apart. Only when she went home to Las Cruces without him or he went to Roswell without her. Every other night, they were together. They fell asleep together, they woke up together . . .

But she didn't want to do that tonight. And he understood. What choice did he have but to respect her decision and agree to it?

"Alright," he said. "If that's what you want."

"It's what I want," she confirmed readily. "Just go, Michael." Wrapping her arms around herself, she sulked back to the bed and lay down on her side, covering up, closing her eyes. He suspected she would cry pretty hard once he left. Part of him thought about sitting outside the door, but it would be too hard to hear her.

So he got dressed and left, not because _he_ wanted to, but because she needed that space. Just for tonight. Hopefully nothing more than that. For this one night and one night only, he was going to have to sleep somewhere else.


	19. Chapter 19

Video games were a great invention. They were the perfect way to occupy yourself and just shut your brain off for a while. Michael used to play them more, back in high school; though back then, Kyle used to play them less.

He sat on the couch while his friend sat in the recliner, both of their thumbs moving fast and furiously over their controllers as they played the newest Madden game. The graphics were unreal, so smooth, yet so detailed. It almost felt like they were watching a real football game play out.

"You're not lettin' me win, are you?" Kyle asked skeptically.

"No." It didn't matter if Kyle couldn't get out on a real football field and play anymore; he could still kick Michael's ass at PlayStation football. Some things never changed.

Tess emerged from the bedroom, wearing loose white sweatpants and a pink t-shirt. "Alright, I think I'm gonna go to bed," she announced, yawning. But mid-yawn, she looked over into the kitchen, and her whole face fell. "Right after I do the dishes," she groaned, trudging through the living room into the kitchen, downtrodden.

Michael felt bad for her having to stay up when she was clearly tired, so he offered, "I'll do 'em, Tess." It wasn't like he'd be going anywhere tonight anyway.

"No, it's fine," she insisted, turning on the sink.

Michael watched as she raked one hand through her hair, then reached underneath the sink to take out the dish soap. She squirted some into the sink and then just stood back and watched it fill up, a dazed look on her face.

"Do you see that?" he asked Kyle.

Kyle's eyes barely left the TV screen. "Yeah."

Michael stared at him expectantly. "Do you care?"

Kyle pressed his lips together tightly and maneuvered one of his players into position to score a touchdown. He didn't say anything.

 _What_ do _you care about?_ Michael wondered, staring down at his controller blankly, feeling helpless. For two years now, he'd been trying to find something to spark some motivation in Kyle, and for two years, he'd failed. All Kyle seemed to care about was everything he'd lost.

"I'm tired of this," Kyle declared, suddenly tossing his controller onto the floor. "What're you even doin' here?"

Michael shrugged, not wanting to divulge too much. "Just thought we could hang out."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause a rousing night of PlayStation's so much better than doin' your girlfriend."

Michael sighed, wishing that _was_ what he was doing. It was 11:00 now. In one more hour, it would officially be his birthday, his twenty-first birthday. But he'd see it in alone.

"Sarah kicked me out," he finally revealed, quietly so Tess wouldn't overhear.

Kyle frowned confusedly. "What?"

"Yeah." Actually, he was a little surprised Sarah hadn't called Tess yet. That must have meant she was too upset to even talk to anyone about it. "No, I mean, she didn't _really_ kick me out; I volunteered to leave 'cause she's . . . pretty pissed at me."

"Why?"

Michael set his controller down on the arm of the couch and sat back, suddenly wondering where he was even going to sleep tonight. Kyle usually slept on the couch, from what he understood. So maybe he'd end up in that rickety old recliner?

"I made a mistake," he admitted.

Kyle groaned lightly. "Alright, who is she and what is her name?"

He hated that, that his own reputation gave people a reason to believe he'd cheated. But there was a girl involved, and he couldn't overlook that. "Maria."

Kyle's eyes widened noticeably. " _What_?"

"No, it's not . . ." He didn't want to give him the wrong impression. "It's not like that. I just recently discovered that she lives in Carlsbad now. I have a class with her, and my practicum's at Dylan's school."

"Dylan?" Kyle looked stunned. "Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"So Sarah's mad about all that, huh?"

Michael swallowed hard. "She's mad because I didn't tell her until tonight."

Kyle shook his head, as if he were disappointed. "Dude . . ."

"I know, I know. I should've told her."

"Why didn't you?"

That seemed to be the common question, and he didn't have a good answer. "I don't know," he replied honestly. "I didn't tell anyone. Except Tina. And Steve."

"Steve?" Kyle made a face.

 _What?_ Michael thought. _What's so bad about that?_

And then, as if to answer that very question, Kyle said, "You told Steve but you didn't tell me?"

Michael felt horrible now, not only for hurting Sarah's feelings, but now for hurting Kyle's. There was this pained look of disbelief on his friend's face, and he hated that he was responsible for putting it there. But did it _really_ come as such a surprise? Kyle had been out of the loop for a long time now.

"Told Steve what?" Tess suddenly asked, swaying back into the living room with a plate and a dishtowel in her hand. She looked down at the two of them expectantly as she dried it off.

 _Oh, crap,_ Michael thought, slowly but guiltily averting his eyes. This wouldn't be pretty. Chances were, he was going to have to go with his last resorts and stay with either Monk or Fly tonight, because once Tess found out why he was over there, she'd kick him out, too.

...

Sarah swore internally when she dropped a glob of ice cream onto her pants. Cute scrubs were hard to find, and these were her favorite to wear to work. She'd spilled so much on them, though, that they were starting to look a lot less new and a lot more dingy. Ice cream was an easy food to spill, though, and she ended up eating it a lot, because there was a little ice cream shop right across the street from Chancellor Rehab. Today, Tess had come with her.

"So . . ." she said leadingly, dabbing at the cold blotch on her thigh. "Where do you think he ended up staying last night?"

Across the table, Tess dug right into her ice cream, muttering uncaringly, "I don't know. Probably with his little Mexican friend."

"You mean Fly?"

" _Whatever._ The pervy one. Who knows? Who cares?"

 _I care,_ Sarah thought. She hadn't talked to Michael since he'd left last night, and she had to admit . . . she missed him. She was actually to the point where she was eager to get off work and go home so that she could see him. Hopefully he would be there, waiting for her, and they could have a good, calm conversation about all of this.

"Sorry, I know I sound harsh," Tess said, "but that guy deserves to sleep out on the streets for lying to you."

"He just . . . kept secrets," Sarah corrected.

"Fine, lying by omission then. It's the same thing."

Sarah sighed, mentally debating that. Were they really? Maybe not, but either way, it wasn't like one was better than the other. Michael had messed up. She knew that; he seemed to know it. Tess _definitely_ knew it. It was almost like she was carrying the rage for the both of them now that Sarah's had tapered off.

"He can be such an ass sometimes," Tess went on, mixing her ice cream around in its bowl. "I mean, I know he hasn't been as much these past two years, but this is old school Michael, as in high school Michael. A jerk, idiot, hormonal time bomb . . . I could go on."

Sarah laughed lightly. "You don't have to say that."

"Oh, I mean it," Tess insisted. "Look, I know you love Michael, and I love him, too . . . but he just needs to get his head on straight sometimes. I mean, what was he _thinking_? He should've told you the _second_ he found out Maria was in town. And instead he just decides to wait a couple weeks? No, that's not right. I'm sorry."

"I know it wasn't right of him," Sarah acknowledged. "But I'm gonna try not to hold it against him."

"I would," Tess said. "For a little while, at least. Make him grovel to get back in your good graces. Make him get down on his knees and beg you to forgive him. Make him swear on his mother and his sister and his whole damn life-"

"Tess," Sarah cut in. "I appreciate that you've got my back, but I'm not gonna do any of that."

Tess made a face. "Really?"

"Yeah." She'd thought long and hard about this last night, and she was resolved to be mature about the whole thing, and as understanding as she possibly could be. "I'm gonna talk to him, and we're gonna work this out, and we're gonna end up being a stronger couple because of it."

"Wow." Tess stared at her in amazement. "That's . . . incredibly optimistic."

"Well, isn't that a good thing?"

"Look, it's just . . ." She set her spoon down in her now soupy bowl, and a look of sadness washed over her. "I used to be optimistic about me and Kyle. I assumed that just because we loved each other, everything would work out. And now look at us."

"Tess . . ." Sarah's immediate instinct was to sympathize and try to comfort her friend.

Tess waved it off quickly. "But this isn't about me and Kyle. This is about you and Michael, and if you wanna forgive him just like that, then go ahead. That's your prerogative. I'm just saying, no matter how much he loves and adores you, he and Maria have this pertinent little thing called history, and it's been known to ruin lives in the past."

"Isabel's?" Sarah guessed. Michael rarely talked about her—in fact, he rarely talked about his high school years in general—but whenever she saw Isabel in town or around campus, she got a good sense of just how far that girl had fallen.

Tears immediately sprang to Tess's eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. "I know it's hard to believe," she said softly, "but Isabel was my best friend once. And when she and Michael broke up, it was like she just got . . . lost."

"Well, Michael and I aren't breaking up," Sarah assured her, "and even if we did someday, I have more of a backbone than that."

"I know. I know."

"And this isn't the same. He's not cheating on me. He messed up, and it _does_ make me reevaluate some things. But I'm still in love with him, and he's still in love with me, and this doesn't change any of that." She smiled appreciatively at Tess, though, because it was nice to know that she had a best friend who was willing to be so impassioned on her behalf. "You know, if it's possible, you seem even more upset about this than I was."

"I probably am," Tess admitted. "Truth be told, Sarah, I don't know if I'll ever forgive Michael for what he did to Isabel. I mean, I know he didn't force her to start sleeping around and drop out of Princeton and do all that other stupid stuff; but if he'd just broken up with her instead of cheating on her . . ." She shrugged piteously. "Maybe she'd still be okay."

 _Maybe,_ Sarah thought, but she doubted it. Some things just seemed inevitable. She hadn't known Isabel Evans back in high school, but seeing her now, she had a hard time picturing her as anything other than . . . well . . . a cautionary tale.

...

The door to Alex's office opened, and out stepped an athletic-looking blonde girl. Isabel recognized her right away. She'd seen her at the football game last week with Alex. And that wedding ring on her finger was a pretty obvious clue. Wasn't her name Linda or Lisa or something?

"Hi," Isabel greeted as the woman walked down the hallway towards her. "You're Alex's wife, right?"

No response. She just kept on coming closer.

"I'm Isabel."

Alex's wife just glared at her and grumbled, "I know who you are," as she strode on past.

Isabel stood in the hall and watched her round the corner. One more sideways glance and she was gone, heading down the stairs.

 _Weird,_ she thought. These days, even though men salivated over her, chicks hated her _big time_. She didn't even have to do anything or say anything rude to garner their glares.

Dismissing the wife's unfounded standoffishness, Isabel entered Alex's office, not at all surprised to find him hunched over his desk, writing comments feverishly on a story someone had turned in.

"Wow," she said. "Working on a Saturday. Now that's dedication."

He glanced up briefly, then returned his eyes to the paper. "Just trying to impress," he said. "If I do a good job with this class, they'll probably let me teach one next semester, too. And that's what I want."

Of course it was. Alex had always had an interest in teaching, and he's always been good at it, even back during his days as a tutor for West Roswell's now defunct Study Buddies program. "Well, I think you're doing a good job," she told him, shutting the door. "I do have a few questions, though."

"About what?" he asked.

"Well, I checked online and saw that you posted the grades for our sonnets."

"Yep." Alex underlined the last line of his comments twice, then set the paper aside. "Yours was good."

She wrinkled her face in confusion. "I got a B."

"Yeah."

"So why wasn't it an A?" She wasn't trying to sound hostile or demanding, but after knocking it out of the park on slam poetry, she'd kind of been hoping to build up some momentum in this class.

"Because it was good," he reiterated. "But not great."

She frowned, wishing she knew where and why he was drawing that distinction. Writing was and always would be subjective, so maybe there was something in it he hadn't liked. "What, was it too graphic?" she questioned. "Too crude, too controversial?"

"No, I didn't have a problem with that. At first, I didn't quite get where you were going with it, but it was all purposeful by the end. And that last line really drove it home and gave the poem its meaning."

Well, that all sounded good and nice, but apparently it wasn't good enough, because it hadn't gotten her an A. "But . . .?" she prompted.

"But . . ." He gave her a serious look. "I know you can still do better."

Oh, this again. Great. She was starting to understand why it always used to piss Michael off when she begged him to live up to his potential, because now Alex was doing it to her. "Okay, Alex, I feel like you're holding me to this impossibly high standard," she complained, "higher than other students. And that's not really fair."

"No, it wouldn't be fair for me to hold you to a lower standard than what you're capable of," he argued. "I'm just trying to push you."

"Okay, then tell me. Tell me what I need to do to earn an A on a more consistent basis."

"Why do I have to tell you?" he challenged. "You should already know."

But that was the problem, wasn't it? She didn't know much of anything anymore.

...

" _Uh . . ." Professor Scott Conahey's eyes nearly rolled back into his head as Isabel slid her mouth up and down rhythmically on his cock. Thank god he was one of the few younger, hotter professors here on campus. He was fit, in his thirties, and engaged. But no wedding ring or pictures of his kids on his desk. So that made this easier._

" _Ah! Ah!" A vast array of sex noises escaped him as he buried his hands in her hair and held her head in place, thrusting up into her mouth a few more times as he released himself. Some of it seeped out the sides of Isabel's mouth, but she held as much of it in as possible, pressing her lips shut and tilting her head back._

" _Let's see, let's see," he said, prying her mouth open._

 _She opened wide for him to get a look at all the cum pooling in the back of her throat._

" _Oh, good girl," he said, as if she were a dog or something. "Now swallow."_

 _She shut her mouth and took one big gulp, downing it all in a matter of seconds. When she opened her mouth again, she stuck her tongue out and said, "Ah . . ." to prove that it was all gone._

" _There you go, yeah." He grinned, stroking his cock a few more times as it started to go limp. "Look at you."_

Look at me, _she thought. This wasn't how she'd envisioned Princeton, but things were tough here. She wasn't the star student in any of her classes, and this just seemed like the easiest way to succeed. It was as strategic as it was degrading, but because Scott was actually attractive, it didn't feel as degrading as it could have._

" _Mmm," she moaned, rubbing his thighs. "How was it?"_

" _Amazing, obviously."_

" _Obviously." She climbed up onto his lap and grabbed onto his shoulders. "So how would you grade my performance?"_

" _Well . . ." He shuffled a few papers aside on his desk until he found hers. "I think you deserve . . ." He marked an red A+ on the top of her essay and circled it emphatically. "Now come here."_

 _She smiled and bent her head to kiss him passionately. In a weird, unexpected way, she was actually starting to like doing this with him. It was exhilarating to know that other students in the class were stressing out about their assignments, and she could turn in something that was complete and utter crap and still manage to outdo them. All because she was beautiful. And willing. And therefore, sort of powerful._

 _Things were just starting to heat up again when a loud knock on the door thundered. "Professor Conahey," a booming voice on the other side said, "it's Dean Rigby. Open up."_

 _Scott froze, and Isabel froze right along with him. She'd met Dean Rigby once, on orientation day. He was the top-dog of the English department, the man in charge. And he didn't sound happy._

" _Uh . . . just a minute," Scott replied, lifting Isabel off of him. He quickly pulled his pants up, tucked his shirt back in, and zipped up his fly. Isabel readjusted her clothes as well and took a seat in the empty chair across his desk, crossing her legs, putting her hands on her lap, trying to look all innocent and . . . normal._

 _Scott unlocked and opened the door to his office with a nervous smile. "Hello, sir," he greeted the white-haired man on the other side. "I'm sorry, I was just in the middle of office hours with one of my students."_

 _Isabel smiled politely, making eye contact for just a second before looking away._

" _What can I do for you, sir?" Scott asked._

 _Dean Rigby looked inside at Isabel, then back at Scott, and he held that gaze for several long, agonizing seconds. The longer he went without saying anything, the more nervous Isabel started to become. Did they look as obvious as she felt? Did it smell like sex in there? Had she remembered to button up every button on her blouse?_

" _I need you to come with me," the dean finally declared._

 _Scott fell into a stunned and scared silence. He didn't look back at Isabel, but he didn't need to. His fear was very much evident in his body language, the sudden tenseness of his back and shoulders. He looked very much like a man who had just gotten caught._

" _Of—of course," he finally stammered, casting a worried glance back at Isabel. "Miss Evans," he said, "I'll be right back."_

No, you won't, _she thought sadly. This was the end of the road for him. His whole life was about to come crashing down._

 _The second Scott left with Dean Rigby, another head peeked into the office, a woman in a maroon pantsuit with short dark hair. "Isabel Evans?" she said._

 _Isabel's stomach immediately knotted up. "Yes?"_

 _The woman gestured for her to get up and follow her. "This way, please."_

Oh god. _She stood and walked out with the woman, already thinking of what she could say to explain . . . all of this. Even if she had to throw Scott under the bus, she'd do it. This was Princeton, after all. People would do anything to go to college here._

...

"Isabel?"

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, Isabel squeaked, "What?"

Alex looked at her strangely, as if he were trying to get a read on what she was thinking. "I said you know what you have to do."

Not true. She knew what _not_ to do. She wasn't making the same mistake again. She couldn't have, even if she'd wanted to. Not with Alex.

"Work harder," he said. "Push yourself. You can do it."

She rolled her eyes, thinking he sounded like a bad motivational poster. "Look . . . you can't expect me to be the same writer I was when I was eighteen," she told him. "I'm not that girl anymore."

"I liked that girl," he blurted suddenly. "She wrote a novel, if I recall."

She grunted, remembering those characters, the ones who had been loosely based off of Michael and her. "Yeah. A complete work of fiction." _Those_ characters had gotten a happy ending. Alex had encouraged her to change it, back before she'd broken up with Michael. But she never had.

"See, you used to just write," Alex reminded her, "for fun. For the sake of getting your thoughts and ideas out there. You used to create your own stories. Now you just wait for the assignment, and you write what you're told."

He didn't understand, though. That was her life. Jesse and Eric came up with the movie ideas, and she starred in them. And that was okay. The world didn't need everyone to be a leader. Sometimes, followers were necessary. "Fine, I'll go home and write for fun then," she told him. "Is that what you want?"

"I want you to _want_ to write," he clarified, "to find that spark, to be inspired."

She frowned, trying to remember the last time she'd been inspired by anything.

"That's what's missing, Isabel."

She sighed, unhappy with what he was saying, even though she partially agreed with it. He wasn't wrong, but it was discouraging that this was what he wanted from her. Because that spark had been missing for a long, long time.

...

Kyle was asleep. Not a surprise. Michael expected to walk in and find him on the couch, and that was indeed exactly where he found him. The only question was what he'd be doing: watching TV, playing video games, or sleeping. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, any one was possible.

Michael cleared his throat to make his presence known. "Hey, man."

Kyle stirred, rubbing his eyes and dragging his hands across his stubble as he woke up. "Hey," he returned, sitting up slowly, holding one hand against his back as he did so. "Happy birthday."

"Yeah," he muttered. A real fucking happy birthday it was.

"Where'd you end up goin' last night?"

"Fly's place." Michael sat down on the arm of the couch, making a face. "It smelled weird there."

"What, like sex?"

"More like masturbation."

"Oh, well . . ." Kyle reached for the remote and turned on the TV. "That figures." He flipped right to ESPN, where a highly-anticipated Big Ten matchup between Ohio State and Michigan State was taking place. "So what's up?" he asked.

"Nothin' much. You're the second stop on the apology tour."

"Yeah? Who was the first?"

"Tess." He was saving Sarah for last, because he figured these first two apologies with Tess and Kyle were a good practice run. "She was pretty pissed at me. I stopped in while she was at work, think I got back on her good side when I insulted that bitch Kristen's engagement ring."

"What'd you say?"

"I told her the diamond was too big and I like Tess's better." He smirked.

Kyle smiled a bit. "Yeah, that'll definitely get you back on her good side." His eyes glazed over for a moment, and Michael wondered what he was thinking about. Or remembering. Was he remembering the day when he'd slid that ring into place? The ridiculously over-the-top proposal that had made all of Tess's dreams come true? It seemed like a different lifetime now.

"You know," Kyle said, "the whole reason she got so pissed is just 'cause she's Sarah's best friend."

"No, she was pissed 'cause she's protective of her," Michael corrected. It went further than friendship for Tess because of the sense of _déjà vu_ that went along with it. He understood that, and he even respected it. "She doesn't want me to hurt Sarah the way I hurt Isabel. But I'm not gonna, and I made sure she knows that. So now she's less mad."

"That's good," Kyle said, yawning. "You don't have to apologize to me, though. I know you're not gonna let history repeat itself. I was never mad."

"Yeah . . ." That really wasn't what he intended to apologize for, though. "But I hurt your feelings when I told Steve about all this and not you. I'm sorry, man."

Kyle shrugged. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I should've told you. You're my best friend. You would've made sure I told Sarah right away instead of dragging it out like this."

Kyle thought about that for a moment and then nodded in agreement. "So why didn't you tell me?" he asked, turning down the volume on the TV. "Is it 'cause I'm . . . you know, a mess right now?"

Sure, that was it in a nutshell, but that was a pretty blunt way to put it. "I didn't say that."

"But that _is_ why, isn't it? You don't think I can help you with your problems 'cause I can't even help myself."

Michael sighed, deciding there was no point in denying it if Kyle already knew. "Pretty much," he admitted. "But better late than never, right? Now you know. Maria came back."

"And now Sarah knows," Kyle added. "Forget about me and Tess, man. We'll get over it. Get your ass home and apologize to the person who matters."

Michael nodded, hoping she would accept his apology and understand just how much she mattered to him. He couldn't take another night without her, worrying that she was too upset to forgive him. In his heart, he knew that they could get past this, and maybe it wouldn't even be that hard. But until she was in his arms again, he'd be worried.

It was a risk, but he went home and made dinner, knowing he'd have plenty of time to put one together because she was working until 7:00 tonight. He opened up her recipe book and searched for something they had the ingredients on hand for. What he ended up attempting was a baked chicken with tomatoes and garlic meal that she'd made a few times before. He felt like he pretty much mutilated the chicken, but a quick taste test assured him that it didn't taste that much different from when she made it.

He dimmed the lights and put a tablecloth down, got out the nicer plates and silverware, and lit candles. Romantic. Good and romantic. Hopefully this would help. It couldn't hurt.

He was just finishing up pouring some white wine into her glass when the door opened, and in she came, looking very tired at first, and then very surprised to see what he'd arranged for her.

"Hey," he said, setting the wine glass down on the counter.

"Hey." She brushed the loose strands of hair framing her face back into her ponytail and said, "You cooked."

He looked at the plates of food sheepishly, knowing that it probably just looked like a mountain of crap to her. "I tried." Whenever she did fancy meals like this, she knew how to arrange everything on the plate so that it looked just right. Honestly, if she wouldn't make so much money as a pharmacist, he'd recommend that she do something in the culinary career track.

"It smells good," she remarked.

"Well, hopefully it tastes good then, too." If it did, it would be the one and only successful meal he'd ever concocted on his own.

He leaned back against the counter, folded his arms across his chest, and mumbled, "You look nice," alternating between looking at her and the floor.

"I'm in scrubs," she pointed out, setting her purse down.

"You still look nice, though." There wasn't an outfit in the world his girl couldn't pull off.

She toed off her shoes, then took a few steps toward him, and nearly sank right into him. He opened up his arms and embraced her gratefully, savoring the smell of her hair, the feel of her body against his. It felt so good to just hold her, to know that she was still okay with him holding her.

"I missed you last night," he told her.

"I missed you, too," she admitted, her voice muffled against his chest. She leaned back a bit and tilted her head back to look up at him. "But I just needed some time alone to think about everything and calm down."

He nodded. "I understand." He wasn't mad at her in the slightest. How could he be? "So do you wanna talk while we eat?" he asked. "Or eat while we talk, or . . ."

She stared up at him for a few seconds and then took his hand in hers, urging, "Come here," as she led him out of their tiny kitchen and into the living room. Shango was dozing on the couch, but when they sat down, he obediently hopped down and curled up in his little nest of blankets on the floor instead.

Michael leaned back against the arm of the couch, and Sarah sat down close to him, swinging her legs up onto his lap. He massaged her calves for a moment, waiting for her to say something. Because it was obvious she had things ready to say, and he didn't, so he figured he'd just follow her lead.

"You know me, Michael," she started in softly. "You know I'm not the type to be jealous or insecure. So you could've told me sooner."

He nodded regretfully. "I know."

"So why didn't you?"

He exhaled heavily. "I don't know." That was the million dollar question, and he kept having to give his lame-ass answer. "I should've. I mean, it's not like I'm trying to hide anything. There's nothing going on between me and Maria."

She reached out and stroked his cheek lovingly. "I know that."

"I just hate that I've given you reason to doubt me."

"I don't doubt you, Michael," she readily assured him, shaking her head. "Not for a second. I know how you feel about me, and I know that nothing can change that."

He nodded affirmatively. She was right. Nothing could.

"I just . . . I wanna understand where you're coming from with all of this," she said almost pleadingly. "And I think I do, as much as I can."

He frowned, trying to follow what she was saying. "What do you mean?"

She scooted a little closer still, nearly sitting on his lap now. "Maria's a huge part of your past," she acknowledged calmly. "Her, Max, Dylan . . . all of them. And seeing all of them again had to throw you for a loop. Like _majorly_. You probably felt like your past and present were crashing together. Am I right?"

That was exactly what it felt like, but he hadn't expected her to know that. "Yeah," he replied. "But that's no excuse for me to not say anything."

"No," she agreed. "But when I think about it like that, it makes it easier for me to understand. Because the past isn't a pleasant thing for you, Michael."

 _Understatement,_ he thought. His past was one intricately-woven tapestry of teenage angst and turmoil. If it wasn't rooted in romance, it was rooted in family. Regardless, it was all so damn dramatic.

"I mean, you never talk about high school," she went on. "You never talk about Maria."

"Because I don't know what to say."

"Exactly. It's almost like you feel like you can't talk to me. And that's why you didn't say anything."

"No, that's not true." He knew he could talk to her. He could talk to her about anything. If there was one person in this world besides Kyle who he would feel comfortable telling anything to, it had to be Sarah.

"Maybe it is, though," she insisted.

He almost laughed. "Are you serious? _I'm_ the one who kept things from you, and _you're_ finding a way to blame yourself?"

She actually did laugh, just lightly, but enough for a genuine smile to show through. "No, I'm not blaming; I'm just saying, maybe you didn't open up to me because you feel like the past is just something you have to close off and store away."

He frowned, wondering if that was true. It could be. As close as he and Sarah were, he'd never gone _super_ in depth with her about his relationship with Maria, or his relationship with Dylan. She knew the basics, that they'd technically started out as an affair, that he'd been so madly in love with her that he'd proposed before he even graduated high school. She knew that he'd intended to adopt Dylan and had even been willing to hold off on going to college just so they could start off their lives together on the right foot. And she knew all about how things had ended. But those were just all the big moments, and there were so many of those little moments in between that she wasn't privy to.

"Maybe," he admitted quietly. Maybe he had closed off that part of himself without even realizing it. "I'm still sorry, though."

"I know you are," she said. "And I can forgive you."

He felt a wave of relief crash over him. "I'm never gonna make a mistake like this again, I promise," he vowed, pulling the ponytail holder out of her hair for her. He threaded his hands through her thick, silky tresses and emphasized, "I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you, too." She smiled and stretched forward so that she could kiss him. Repositioning herself, she ended sprawled out on top of him, and together they shifted down so that they were both lying on the couch. He was happy to stay right there and be her human pillow for as long as she wanted. This, this _little_ moment, turned his entire birthday around for him.

"Everything's gonna be fine," she said, rubbing his chest. "Maria's in town, but you can handle that. And I _know_ I can handle it." She sighed contentedly and proclaimed, "We can handle it together. Just don't be afraid to open up to me."

"I won't," he promised, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. Even though it was a romantic moment, his stomach just _had_ to growl. The smell of their dinner was still heavy in the air. "Food's gettin' cold," he pointed out.

"The food can wait," she said, wrapping her legs and arms around him tighter. "I'm good right here."

He smiled, caressing her spine. Yeah. So was he.


	20. Chapter 20

It was weird, but Tess almost felt like she had to ask Kyle permission to sit on the couch with him. He was just there so often that it was like his territory. She didn't ask, though. She sat down on the farthest left cushion with her TV dinner in hand, while he sat on the other side of the couch, polishing off the remainder of his. He'd probably want another one later.

"So," she said, barely taking one glance at the college football game he was watching now. All the teams looked the same to her. "Do you think Sarah's gonna be able to forgive Michael?"

Kyle swiped his finger inside the compartment of the plastic tray where the mashed potatoes and gravy had been. "Yeah," he said, scooping up the remainder of what was left so he could lick it off his finger. "She loves him. He loves her."

Tess grunted, still not entirely forgiving of what Michael had done. "He'd better," she grumbled, unable to _not_ think about how inconsolable Isabel had been two years ago. Having to let go of her friendship and watch her travel down the path of ruin had been one of the hardest things Tess had ever had to do. It just wasn't in her nature to give up on people.

"They'll be fine," Kyle assured her. "They're, like, the perfect couple."

Tess sat still, looking at him sadly, wondering if he even thought about what he was saying on the same level that she did. Because she was pretty sure he didn't, she pointed out, "That's what people used to say about us."

He looked right back at her, not apologetically or reminiscently. Just . . . blankly. Like he didn't even care that people didn't say that anymore. And then he just reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the TV.

With the sounds of the game able to drown out the silence, Tess started to pick at her cheap meal, wishing he would say something else. Or at least change the damn channel. Whichever.

But he wouldn't.

...

Isabel rang the doorbell, tapped her foot impatiently while she waited, then rang the doorbell again. Were they trying to pretend they weren't home or something? Wouldn't work. She wasn't stupid. There were two cars in the driveway.

At last, Max slowly opened the door, stepping right out onto the porch instead of letting her even set one foot inside. "What're you doin' here?" he questioned, closing the door.

"Well, hello, big brother. It's nice to see you, too," she greeted sarcastically. Since when had he become so cold? Sure, it had been a long two years of not seeing him, but before he'd come to Roswell, she'd gone longer than that without seeing him. And things in Roswell had been natural. He hadn't been so standoffish.

"What do you need?" he demanded.

 _He thinks he's better than me,_ she realized. _Or at least he wants to be._ She wasn't about to let that discourage her, though. "I don't _need_ anything," she said. "I did _want,_ however, to drop off the most adorable thing I've ever seen." She handed him a large gift bag from Clowns and More, the costume shop that was going out of business just year, and gave him a persistent look, urging him to open it.

Reluctantly, he reached into the bag and pulled out a pirate costume. "Captain Hook," he said.

"Or Jack Sparrow. Whoever."

"Hmm." Max held it up higher, looking it over. She kept expecting him to at least crack a smile or something, because honestly, it was _such_ a cute costume. The little black pants were accompanied by a red and white striped shirt, and there was a black vest that went over that. But the red bandana and black eyepatch were really what pulled it together. The little plastic sword was adorable, too. Dylan would have such a fun time with it.

"It's for Halloween," she said, stating the obvious. "You're taking Dylan trick-or-treating, right?"

"Of course."

"So now he has a great costume. All the other little boys will be jealous."

"Look . . ." Max shoved the costume back into the sack, handing it back to her. "I appreciate it and everything, but you should return this. He already has a costume."

"Oh." She tried not to look disappointed, because . . . it didn't _really_ matter. It was just a costume. "Well, what's he going as?"

"A football player."

"Really?" That was . . . poignant. "You must hate that."

Max shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't mind. He loves football."

"And I wonder why that is." It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that Michael Guerin had taught him all about the game, could it?

"Just stop," Max snapped suddenly. "Okay, stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to reconnect; stop trying to force your way back into our lives," he growled. "It's not gonna happen. The only family you have is the one you make movies with."

She had no snappy comeback loaded in the barrel for that one, so all she could do was stand there like an idiot, clutching her gift bag tightly as he retreated back inside and slammed the door in her face.

...

"Shango!" Sarah yelped as the dog stopped to sniff a bush again. When he lifted his leg to pee, she wondered, "Seriously, does this dog have a bladder condition or something?"

Michael chuckled, gently tugging on Shango's leash so they could continue walking. "No, he's just beast mode. He wants to claim a lot of territory, so he's markin' it." At this point, though, he'd lifted his leg so many times that barely two squirts were coming out. "Awesome job, Shango," he congratulated anyway. "Keep up the great work."

Even though she was wearing sunglass, Michael could just sense that Sarah was rolling her eyes. "Whatever happened to this toilet-training you were so convinced you could pull off, huh?"

"That ended up bein' harder than I thought," he admitted. "Besides, Shango's a man. And real men piss outside, so . . ." He shrugged pulling Shango back when he started to veer too far off the sidewalk.

"You and this dog," Sarah said, shaking her head. "I swear . . ."

Michael grinned, not at all ashamed of his bromance with Shango. Not one bit.

"Well . . ." Sarah stepped down off the sidewalk as they came upon a bench and sat down. "Does today kind of make up for yesterday's bitter birthday?"

He sat down beside her, elongating Shango's leash so that the dog could run around a little more and sniff out more places to pee. "It more than makes up for it," he assured her. "But don't worry about yesterday. I had the kind of birthday I deserved."

"What'd you do?" she asked.

"Well, I watched TV at Fly's house. Then I went over to Monk's to get some studying done. Then I went around and started apologizin' to everyone."

"And then you came home and made dinner," she added. "Which was surprisingly good, by the way."

"Yeah, but before that, I went to the bar and ordered my first drink legally."

" _Legally_ ," she emphasized.

"Yep. I have to admit, though, I'm gonna miss bein' Ricardo Fuego. He was pretty cool."

"Well . . ." She nudged his side. "Michael's Guerin's cooler."

"Damn right," he agreed, reflecting on his coolest moment. "Snowball King and all."

She moved her sunglasses up on top of her head, and this time he actually saw her roll her eyes.

"What?" he asked.

"It's just . . . if I had a nickel for every time you've mentioned being Snowball King, I'd be a rich girl."

He smirked. What could he say? It was a pinnacle moment in his life. "And you say I don't talk about the past."

But her expression was still a serious one. "No, you really don't, though," she argued. "I mean, you tell me about Snowball King and about the supposedly 'legendary' speech you gave when you got the crown. And you talk about football once in a while, and how you and Kyle were, like, the unstoppable tandem. You talk about that teacher you hated."

"Which one?" There were so many.

"The science guy."

"Mr. Frost," he snorted. "Ass."

"And you've told me about Ms. Topolsky and how she inspired you to be a counselor. But that's, like . . . it. That's _all_ you talk about. You don't go more in depth than that."

He shrugged. " 'cause there's not much to say."

"Sure there is." She angled her whole body towards him, like she was really encouraging him to open up.

"Sarah, I don't even remember most of high school, okay? I was always gettin' wasted; I slept through most of my classes."

"I don't wanna know about the classes, Michael."

He knew what that meant, and quite honestly, he was afraid of it. Shifting uncomfortably, he asked, "Why do you want me to talk about her?"

"Because I want you to be open with me," she explained. "I mean, think about it. You know all about my ex-boyfriends. Remember Curtis?"

"The nerdy one who won the fifth grade spelling bee?"

"Yeah. And Brian."

"The artist who moved out to L.A."

"And Pierre."

Michael made a face. "I still can't believe you dated a French guy."

"Well, what can I say? I'm very multicultural, unlike _some_ people." She gave him a pointed look. "But look, the point is, I've been very open with you, and none of those relationships were even that serious."

"Then maybe that's _why_ you've been open," he pointed out. It was a lot easier to divulge your past when there was much to tell.

"Maybe," she agreed softly. "I just feel like you've only ever given me the abridged version, and that frustrates me."

He frowned, reaching down to untangle Shango's leash from around the leg of the bench. "Well, I don't want you to feel frustrated," he said, eventually just unhooking his dog altogether so he could run free. He wouldn't go far, and chances were, this conversation could go a while. "What do you wanna know?"

"Just tell me something about her," she urged.

"Like what?" His teachers had always had to do a lot of prompting to get a decent answer out of him. This would be no different.

"Anything."

Unless . . . maybe it would. Because there were plenty of things he could say about Maria. It was all about just finding one that wouldn't . . . intimidate her. Not that Sarah was easily intimidated.

"She's a great singer," he revealed.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Was that a turn-on?"

"Probably." It was equally as much of a turn on, though, that Sarah was a great dancer; it didn't matter that she was tone-deaf. "For Christmas," he said, getting absorbed in a memory momentarily, "I got her this guitar, 'cause she had to sell her old one to make ends meet." He remembered the way her whole face had lit up with joy and excitement when she'd seen that. It had felt good to make her feel so good. "That was the first time I ever heard her sing."

"Yeah? Were you guys together at that point?"

"No. But that's when I realized I had feelings for her." That knowledge had hit him like a ton of bricks, and from that moment onward, he'd been . . . consumed. "And it just kinda progressed from there," he said, once again reverting to the 'abridged version,' as Sarah had called it. "There you go."

But clearly that wasn't enough to satisfy her. "Tell me something else."

He looked around desperately, trying to figure out what the hell this was. He hadn't expected it, that was for sure. "Her middle name's Elena."

"Oh, great, I really feel like I know her now," she said sarcastically. "Didn't you meet her at that alien restaurant you refuse to take me to?"

"You wouldn't like the food."

"So that's a yes."

He sighed, relenting himself to telling her more. "Yeah. That's where we had our first kiss, too." It didn't exactly _sound_ romantic, but it had been at the time, with it just being the two of them there and all.

"So how did it progress to the point where you were wanting to _marry_ her?" she inquired. "That's a really big step."

He'd thought about that a lot over the years; he'd thought about it most in those months following her departure. It was one of those things, one of those choices he'd made, that he might never be able to make sense of. "I don't know," he said. "I was young. Naïve. I thought we were gonna be together forever."

Lowering her head, she quietly, carefully asked, "Do you think you still would be, if it wasn't for that night on the bridge?"

 _Oh, fuck,_ he thought, feeling like he had no answer to that question. It was impossible to know, and it didn't really matter now, did it? "No," he replied.

"Why not?"

" 'cause I was meant to end up with you." He put his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side, squeezing gently. "Are we good now? Have you had enough of this?" He certainly hoped so, because walking through the park with Shango was a hell of a lot easier than walking down memory lane.

"For today," she said. "I'll be honest with you, though . . . I'd really like to meet her."

He unwrapped his arm from around her, scooting back a bit to stare at her incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"

"No."

Holy shit, she really wasn't. She had that look in her eyes, the dead-set one. He'd seen that look a lot over the years, mostly when she vowed that she would end up graduating college with a better GPA than his. And here he was again, seeing it now.

"Why the hell would you wanna do that?" he spat.

She shrugged as if it were no big deal. "Why not? I owe a lot to her. She helped make you into the man you are today."

"No, my mom did that," he corrected quickly.

"So did Maria."

As much as he wanted to dispute that . . . he couldn't. It was true. Maria had shaped his life in ways that no one, not even he, could fully understand. "How are you so calm and collected about all this?" he wanted to know.

"Look, Michael, I have no ill will towards her whatsoever. I have no reason to be hostile. I'm not jealous or threatened, because I know that what we have is strong."

"Yeah," he agreed, hitting his thigh to call Shango back over.

"But I also know that this girl had a huge impact on your life, and rather than just brushing that off, I'd like to get to know her. And now I have that chance."

"The chance to be friends with my ex-girlfriend?" No way. It just seemed too weird to him.

"I just wanna get to know her and let her get to know me," she said. "It doesn't matter if it becomes a friendship or not. This way there's just no reason for anything to be awkward or uncomfortable between any of us."

"You don't think it'll be awkward, huh?" Even just picturing it in his mind, it was awkward to him.

"Well . . . maybe at first," she acknowledged. "But that won't last."

He sighed deeply, trying to think of something he could say to get her to change her mind about all of this. But there was nothing. Besides, he kind of owed it to her. After him keeping all this Maria stuff a secret, she deserved to be able to call the shots on how they moved forward from here.

"I think you're way more mature than me," he said, knowing there was no way he was grown-up enough yet to handle something of this magnitude this calmly. "Crazy, but mature."

She smiled and wriggled in close to him. "That's why I'm your Crazy Girl."

That she was indeed. As wary as he was about having her meet Maria, he also admired her ability to be able to do so. She was confident, and that was sexy.

He bent down and gave her a kiss.

...

 _I'm a fucking glorified file clerk,_ Michael thought dejectedly as he sifted through the disorganized hanging folders in Vanessa's middle drawer of her filing cabinet. His cooperating counselor had given him a second chance here at Pound, sure, but she was keeping him at a distance, occupying him with trivial shit like organizing the office rather than the important stuff like attending IEP meetings. It was clear to him that he still had a ways to go before he was completely back on her good side.

Bored out of his mind, he opened up a folder labeled _Golf,_ and what he found surprised him. Vanessa, it seemed was the coach of Carlsbad high school's boys' golf team. _Huh._ Who knew?

 _I gotta put myself out there,_ he thought. Vanessa had told him he needed to go above and beyond. He had to get his head out of his ass and find something he could do around there that would amount to . . . _impressive._

When he heard a familiar voice ring out from the exterior office, he got distracted.

"Hey, will you give this to Dylan?"

 _Maria._ He quickly put the folder away, aware that she was talking to the secretary, probably dropping off Dylan's lunch the way so many other parents did every day.

"I forgot to send it with him this morning. Thank you so much."

Michael hurriedly shut the filing cabinet and bolted out into the main office to catch Maria. Patty gave him a really weird look as he darted right past her outside the office.

"Maria!" he called.

She whirled around, looking a little caught off-guard when she saw him. "Michael, hey," she said, subtly looking him up and down. "I'm not used to seeing you dressed like this."

"Well . . ." He plucked at the awful tie he was wearing. Damn thing made him feel like he was suffocating. "Gotta look professional when I'm here."

"Yeah." She nodded, and then an awkward silence immediately overtook them. _Great._

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, shifting from side to side a bit, Michael hesitantly ventured into a more serious topic. "Hey, so, I, uh . . . I kinda lied to you the other day," he confessed.

Her eyebrows arched. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, when I said I'd told Sarah everything. I didn't tell her anything until Friday night."

Her face registered surprise, and she nodded slowly, taking that in. "How'd that go?"

"It could've gone better." He shrugged. "But it's fine now."

"Good." She readjusted her purse on her right shoulder, looked down at the floor for a few seconds, then quietly admitted, "You know, I-I didn't tell Max right away, either."

Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. That made him feel . . . better. "Why not?" he questioned.

"I don't know. It just felt so weird."

"It's all weird," he agreed. And it was about to get weirder once he told her how Sarah wanted to take things from here.

"Yeah. Well, it's good that you told her and I told Max, and we're not keeping anything from them anymore," she said.

"Yeah." He wouldn't have to feel so guilty anymore. Now he could just be completely honest with Sarah. Or . . . almost completely honest, at least. He still had no intention of telling her that Music Appreciation wasn't fulfilling any of his requirements.

"So . . . I'll see you tomorrow, I guess," Maria said, giving an awkward little wave goodbye as she turned around and started walking off again.

 _Crap,_ he thought, wishing he could just let her go. But Sarah had been very, _very_ clear in what she wanted, and it was up to him to make that possible. "Maria, wait."

Slowly, impatiently, Maria turned back around once again. "What?"

"Okay, this might sound crazy, but . . ." Scratch the _might_. It _did_ sound crazy, or at least it did to him. "Sarah wants to meet you."

At first, she laughed. "What?" Then, when she realized he was serious, she got serious, too. "Why?"

"I don't know. She's on this whole kick that getting to know you will bring her closer to me. Not that we're not close. I mean, we are. We've been together for two years now. She just . . ." He shrugged helplessly. "It's what she wants."

She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't . . . I don't know. That seems kinda . . ."

"Strange, I know," he filled in. "But she's pretty adamant about it."

"Does she just, like, wanna talk to me, or . . . what?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

She hung her head and pouted, meekly asking, "Does she not like me?"

"No, she has nothing against you," he assured her. "Sarah's not that kind of girl."

" _That_ kind?"

"You know . . . the Isabel kind." For a long time he hadn't known Isabel was that kind of girl, either, but . . . hell, people surprised him.

"Well, that's a relief," she said, managing a small smile. But in seconds, it was gone, and the worry was back again. "But still . . . I don't know, Michael."

"Please," he begged. "I promised her I'd make this happen for her. I gotta follow through." If he didn't, Sarah was going to be disappointed, and she might think that he was hiding something. Well, no, she wouldn't actually think that, but . . . he'd worry that she would think that.

She thought about it for a few more seconds, then relented. "Fine. But I'm bringing Max."

 _Oh, fantastic._ "Fine."

As if to explain, she added, "It's just . . . he should be a part of this."

"Whatever." He didn't necessarily think that was true.

She gave him a look.

"It's fine," he insisted. "We're goin' to this Halloween party tomorrow night at the Sigma Chi house. You should come." Fuck, this felt weird, inviting his ex-girlfriend to a party.

"I can't," she said. "I'm taking Dylan trick-or-treating."

It felt like his heart got squeezed for a second when she said that. He remembered going trick-or-treating with them a couple years ago, convincing her that she should take Dylan out and not be afraid to show him off. He'd pretty much just invited himself along for that. But it'd been a nice night, the first night that he and Dylan had really bonded, actually.

"So come after," he suggested. "Come on, doin' this at a party might make it less awkward."

"Maybe," she reluctantly agreed. "I'll ask Max what he thinks about it."

 _Oh, fuckin' Max . . ._ Michael pressed his lips together tightly and mustered, "You do that." He turned to head back into the office to get more filing done.

"Michael," she called after him. "If we're doing this, you have to be nice to him."

"I'll be . . ." He flapped his arms against his sides as he backed away. "Professional."

She gave him a skeptical look. "Promise?"

He didn't _want_ to be professional. He wanted to smash that motherfucker's face in. But he wouldn't do it. Because it would cause more harm than good. "I promise," he vowed. And he meant it. He wasn't about to embarrass Sarah or do something that would piss Maria off. He'd have to fight the urge, though. Like so many other things in his life, it would be a constant battle to resist.

...

"Well, you're a lot braver than I am," Tess declared, reaching across the table to pluck out a cheese and meat-covered nacho from the pile of nachos she and Sarah had ordered and decided to share. She popped it into her mouth and emphasized, "Seriously, though."

"It has nothing to do with being brave," Sarah claimed, sliding one chip against the side of her plate to make it slightly less gooey. "I'm just curious."

"About Michael and Maria."

"Yeah." She bit down on the chip, chewing contemplatively. "Mostly about who he was when he was with her."

Tess grunted. "He was a jerk. A horny, perverted jerk."

Sarah gave her a suspicious look. "Then why did you ever set me up with him?" There had to have been a good side to him, even back then.

"Because he was, like, depressed when she left, and you were a ray of sunshine." Tess smiled exaggeratedly. "Okay, truth be told . . . Michael was only a jerk when he was cheating on Isabel. But once that was over and it was just him and Maria . . . he wasn't as much of a jerk anymore. Like, he even managed to act like a stand-up guy when they thought she might be pregnant."

Sarah felt her eyebrows jot upward in surprise. "They thought that once?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Huh." It shouldn't have been all that surprising—Michael had told her once that all his past relationships were _very_ sexually active ones. But still . . . that was yet another thing he hadn't told her about. She didn't resent him for it, but she still wished she knew.

"But she wasn't, obviously. Thank God, because they were, like, totally not ready for that."

"I can't imagine who would be in high school," Sarah said.

Tess smiled wistfully for a moment. "I would've been," she said. "I know it sounds stupid, but . . ." She shrugged, then quickly got back on topic. "Whatever. My point is . . . Michael's a pretty different guy these days than he was back then. And he has you to thank for that."

Sarah smiled, glad that she could help bring out the best in him. "This might sound weird," she said, "but I'm actually kind of excited to meet Maria."

Tess made a face. "That _does_ sound weird."

"No, just because, like . . . okay, Michael and I are in love, and he knows me better than anyone else. And I know him really well, too, but there's, like, this part of him that he just keeps hidden and closed off from everyone; and I feel like if I get to know Maria and if he starts to get some closure with that whole situation, it'll only bring us closer in the long run. You know?"

"Hmm." Tess swirled a mostly-uncovered chip around in a glob of meat and cheese and shoved the whole thing into her mouth. "I'm sure you're right," she said, holding her hand over her mouth to shield her chewing. "It's just . . . don't be fooled."

"By what?" Sarah asked.

"By Maria. She's like a piranha. She may look harmless on the outside, kinda pretty and sparkly. But once you get to know her, you realize she's a vicious, man-eating predator."

Sarah laughed at the comparison. It was so . . . over-the-top. So Tess. "I thought you guys were friends once."

"We were . . . on our way to becoming friends," Tess clarified. "It never really got to that point."

"I can tell." The piranha comparison was . . . pretty harsh.

Tess looked at her in all seriousness and said, "Just be careful. Okay?"

Sarah nodded, grateful that her best friend just wanted to look out for her, even though there was nothing major to be concerned about. "Okay," she said, feeling confident that she had it in herself to strike that fine balance between cautious and open-minded.


	21. Chapter 21

Halloween was one of Michael's favorite holidays, so he planned to go big. Late night, probably one that just blended into an early morning. That was the plan. Because of that, he had to get as much rest as possible during the day, so he squeezed in sleep every chance he got. Including the minutes leading up to Music Appreciation.

"Wake up," he suddenly heard right when he felt a finger flick him in the back of the head. He opened his eyes, and there was Maria, taking her seat beside him. She actually didn't look completely annoyed to see him today, which was progress.

"Hey," he said, moving around a bit so he wasn't taking up so much damn space.

"So . . ." She gathered all her hair in place behind her head and held it there for a few seconds in a ponytail before releasing it all again. "I talked to Max about meeting up with you and Sarah at this party tonight, and he said he's okay with it."

"Really?" _Dammit._ There went all hope of avoiding this encounter then. He'd kind of been banking on Max being resistant to it.

"Yeah. He actually said he thinks it's a good idea, too." She rolled her eyes, and that made him smirk. " _Anyway_. . . we'll be there. For a little while at least."

"Great." It wasn't great, but . . . whatever. Hopefully Max and Maria would just make a brief appearance, and then he and Sarah could spend the rest of the night letting loose and having actual fun. And then when they got home during the wee hours of the a.m., they could _really_ let loose and have some fun.

"What're you gonna wear?" he asked her.

She gave him an abrupt, sharp look. " _What?_ "

"For a costume," he clarified, snorting. Yeah, right, like he'd really care that much about what she was wearing under normal circumstances.

"It's a costume party?"

"Well, yeah, it's Halloween."

She groaned. "Great. I'll just throw a sheet over my head and call myself a ghost."

"Classic," he remarked. Actually, a ghost would work. A ghost would be great. Then she and Sarah wouldn't _technically_ have to meet face to face.

...

Every time Maria crossed paths with her mom, she had to force a smile and act like she wasn't petrified to see her. "Mom." It always came out a shaky, nervous greeting like that, though. Their relationship, having always been a rocky one, had actually been pretty decent for the past couple of years. They didn't smother each other with close proximity anymore, which seemed to be healthier and better for both of them. And even though Amy DeLuca still got her snippy little comments in here and there, she'd lightened up a bit, and that made it easier for Maria to deal with her.

"Hi, honey." Her mom came right inside, eyeing her outfit curiously. "You look . . . you look great."

 _I look like trailer trash,_ Maria thought. She had on an old pair of jeans and a white tank top. But it was all part of her costume for tonight. She'd decided that if she was going to this stupid party after all, she might as well make a little bit of an effort.

"Where's Dylan?" Amy eagerly asked.

 _Typical,_ Maria thought. _Haven't seen the woman in three months, and I don't even get a hug._ Not that she wanted one. "He's still getting ready," she replied, shutting the front door. "Thanks for coming. I know it was short notice."

"Oh, I don't mind. I love getting to spend time with my grandson."

Maria pressed her lips together tightly to refrain from saying anything. She'd come to realize that, as much as her mom said things that drove her crazy, she herself tended to escalate the problem by making a big deal out of them.

"What's he dressing up as?" Amy asked.

"Um, a football player."

"Oh, of course." She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm sure he'll look cute."

"He will." Dylan always looked cute.

"Gosh, this sure is one advantage of having you guys closer to home," Amy said, strolling around the kitchen. She did weird things like opening up the refrigerator and skimming her hands across the countertop, as though she were inspecting the place or something. "I missed out on this last year."

"And the year before that," Maria mumbled, "and the year before that."

"I'm just saying, I appreciate the invite."

"Well . . . you're welcome." Truth be told, though, her mom probably wouldn't have scored an invite had they not required her babysitting services tonight. "And I appreciate you being here," she said, genuinely meaning that. It really _had_ been short notice, asking her to come. "Actually, I, uh . . . I was wondering if you might wanna hang around tonight for a while. With Dylan. After the trick-or-treating."

Her mother gave her a suspicious look. "What exactly are you getting at, Maria?"

 _Here goes nothing._ She mentally steeled herself for an onslaught of judgment. "Well, Max and I were kinda thinking we might go to this costume party later tonight."

"What? A party?"

"Yes." Hard as it was to remember, they were still both very young, and young people liked to go to parties. Of course that wasn't why she was going, though. No, she would have been perfectly content to just stay home and watch Dylan crash out while digging into his candy, but . . . circumstances.

"Where is this 'party'?" Amy asked, using air-quotes for some reason.

"Just on campus."

"Where on campus?"

Maria sighed, well aware how irresponsible this would sound. "The Sigma Chi house."

Her mother's mouth gaped in disbelief. "A _frat_ party? You want me to babysit Dylan so you can go to a frat party?"

"We got invited."

"By some very mature and respectable frat guys, I presume."

"No, by . . ." She put on the verbal brakes before she said too much. "A friend."

Amy made a face. "You have a friend?"

"Yeah, don't sound so surprised."

"Well, I just . . . that's good, I suppose." Amy pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down at the table. "So what's her name?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Your friend."

"Oh . . ." _Crap,_ Maria thought. Why hadn't she just lied and said they wanted to have a date night? "Just . . ."

Much to her relief, Max came down the stairs at the exact right time, and he blurted out a name for her. "Joan. Her friend's name is Joan." He smiled politely and said, "Hi, Amy."

"Hi, Max." She got back to her feet and gave him a quick hug. "You know what? I will gladly watch Dylan tonight while you guys go to your party, just because I love spending time with him and don't get to do it often enough."

"Thank you," Maria said, relieved to have that done and over with. Now she was just going to have to work up some backstory on 'Joan' in case her mom probed any further with the questions.

Max cleared his throat and announced, "Alright, now presenting, the star of the Houston Texans, number ninety-nine, Dylan DeLuca!" He swept his arms exaggeratedly towards the stairs, and Dylan came scampering down excitedly.

"Yay!" Amy exclaimed, clapping wildly. "Oh, look at that!"

Maria smiled adoringly. If it was possible, Dylan looked cuter than she'd even anticipated he would. He had the eye black on and everything.

"Gramma!" her son exclaimed, his face immediately lighting up with excitement when he saw her. He ran towards her, nearly tripping on his jersey, and practically pounced on her.

"Oh, sweetie!" Amy swept him up into her arms and hugged him tightly. "Look at you! You look so big and tough."

"I am big and tough, Gramma."

"Not too tough to give me a kiss, though, right?"

He giggled and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, I didn't think so. Give me one more."

Maria sidled over to Max and quietly said, "Thanks for covering for me." The only name that had been coming to her mind was _Michaela,_ and that just would have been too damn obvious.

"No problem," he said, putting his arm around her waist. She leaned against him, grateful that he understood why it wasn't a good idea to tell Amy they were meeting up with Michael tonight. Unlike Max, her mother just _wouldn't_ understand.

...

"I'm gettin' a lot of candy," Dylan proclaimed as he waddled back to the sidewalk from Mrs. Murrow's house. The woman had been surprisingly generous with the Snickers and Twix, by the looks of it.

"You gonna share?" Max asked him.

"Yeah."

"With who."

He pointed to Maria and Grandma Amy.

Max feigned offense. "What about me?"

Dylan grinned.

"Ah, you'll share with me." Max patted him on the back, and together they walked along.

Maria hung back with her mom, letting her boys have their time together. This was nice. Last year, Max had gone trick-or-treating with them, but it hadn't been like this. At that point, Dylan had only known him to be 'Mommy's friend.' _Maybe_ he'd suspected that they were dating. But he hadn't thought of Max as his dad.

"You know, I was skeptical at first," Amy admitted, "but I've been surprised how good Max is with him. Surprised _and_ impressed."

"Yeah, he's great," Maria agreed. As skeptical as her mom had been, she'd been ten times more so. But it all seemed to be working out well.

"Alright, get ready," she heard Max saying as he and Dylan arrived at the next house. "You got more candy coming. You want me to go up with you or you wanna do this one by yourself?"

"Mmm . . ." Dylan thought about it for a moment and decided, "You can come."

"Okay, let's go." Max looked almost as excited as Dylan was as they approached the front door. "Look extra cute. That'll get you even more candy."

Maria folded her arms over her chest as the wind whistled past and looked at her mom, thinking that this blue and white plaid over-shirt would be the perfect addition to her lame costume tonight. "Can I borrow your shirt?" she outright asked.

"Are you cold?"

"No. Well, yeah, but I mean, when we get home."

Her mom made a face. "Why?"

"I just need it for my costume," she explained. "I have plenty of plaid, but none of it looks country."

"So you're saying I look country"

"Well, you don't look city."

"Oh, please," her mom scoffed. "Roswell's a bigger town than Carlsbad here is. If anyone looks country . . ."

"Can I borrow it or not?"

"When we get home, yes."

Maria rolled her eyes. God, all of that bickering just over a shirt. It was ridiculous.

"Aw . . ." Amy cooed, watching as Dylan held out his little plastic pumpkin and exclaimed, "Twick or tweat!" Max stood beside him, holding his hand, his eyes on him the whole time.

"Look at that," Amy said. "Isn't that sweet?"

Maria smiled, feeling warmer now. It was as sweet as could be.

...

" _I think he had a really fun time tonight." Maria took one more look at her little boy, tucked securely under his Buzz Lightyear blanket, and closed the door to his bedroom, leaving it open just a crack in case he hollered for her in the night._

" _Yeah, he did," Max agreed, shuffling down the hallway with her. "He's gonna sleep like a rock, though."_

" _Yeah." They'd gone to the Texans game, and Dylan had just about yelled his head off. He actually seemed to have a pretty good understanding of the game, though. He'd known when to cheer and when not to._

" _I'm pretty relieved," Max confessed as they made their way into the kitchen. "I halfway expected him to see me and . . . I don't know, get panicked or something."_

" _He doesn't remember . . ." she reminded him._

" _I know. But I just thought . . ." He shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I was just prepared for the worst."_

" _Well . . ." The worst hadn't happened. Dylan had taken to Max really well. "He liked you."_

" _Thank God." Max actually looked a little emotional. "I don't think I would've been able to handle it if he hadn't."_

 _Maria opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water for herself, holding one up as an offer for Max, too. He shook his head to decline._

" _So," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "you're probably pretty tired, too, then."_

" _Yeah," she answered, "I kind of am." The game had gone late, and they'd stopped for ice cream afterward. And it had taken Dylan nearly an hour to come down from that sugar high, so . . . normally they were_ both _in bed by now._

" _So you probably don't want me to stick around," he concluded._

 _She certainly didn't want to seem rude. Besides . . . she'd had a good time tonight, too. "Oh, no, you can if you want," she told him. "It's just, I don't know how entertaining I'll be."_

 _He smiled. "I can go."_

" _Are you sure?" She really wasn't trying to kick him out._

" _Yeah. Tonight was all about making a memory with Dylan—you know, a good one—and I did that, so . . ."_

" _Okay." They'd probably do this again sometime. This or something like it. "Well . . ."_

" _Well . . ." he echoed. "Goodnight then."_

" _Goodnight." She just stood there, feeling like an idiot, not sure if she was supposed to walk him out the front door or just let him see himself out or . . ._

 _All thought suddenly vanished when he bent down and pressed a kiss to her lips, shocking the hell out of her. She was so shocked, in fact, that she couldn't even react._

" _I'm sorry," he immediately apologized._

 _She tilted her head to the side and stared at him curiously. Why would he apologize? It wasn't like she'd pushed him away. But that was just what Max had gotten used to doing, wasn't it? Apologizing. Making amends._

 _He wouldn't look her in the eye all of a sudden. It was as if he were ashamed, like he felt bad for making a move._

Don't feel bad, Max, _she thought._ You're _not_ bad anymore.

 _Surprising even herself, she moved in closer and kissed him this time. But unlike her, he was able to react. His lips brushed against hers, and his hands found her waist. And gradually, the kiss grew deeper._

...

Maria pulled herself out of her thoughts as Dylan came scurrying back towards her, holding out two hefty handfuls of sugary goodness. "Did you get more candy?" she squealed.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed.

She knelt down to inspect, make sure there were no unopened wrappers or anything of the sort. "Ooh, show me what you got."

...

Sigma Chi was one of the nicer fraternities at NMSU, which was exactly why Sarah had chosen their Halloween party to attend. Personally, Michael would have opted for the bash at the Alpha Delta house, just because it would get wilder, but this was probably the smarter choice. The cops wouldn't end up putting a stop to this one.

Fly was there, dressed only in his underwear and claiming it was somehow his costume. Monk was there, too, for a while, but he left shortly upon arrival and went home to chat online with . . . who the hell knew at this point. Luckily Isabel and Courtney didn't seem to be anywhere near the premises, so Michael could avoid having _both_ his ex-girlfriends there tonight.

"You know," he said as he filled himself up a glass of beer from the keg, "I think this is the first college party I've ever gone to that I'm not stoked about." At least he looked good, though. Cowboy costume. Got the job done every time.

"Oh, lighten up," Sarah said, adjusting the thin wreath on top of her head, careful not to disturb the massive hairstyle she'd assembled. She'd dressed up as a Greek goddess tonight, full-length white toga and everything. She had on all this gold jewelry to go with it, and strappy gold sandals. She really did look a goddess. But then again, that was nothing new.

"I'm serious, I don't wanna be here," he said, sipping his drink. "We could just go home and fuck around all night."

"Michael, it's gonna be fun," she insisted.

He made a face. _Fun?_ Not exactly the word he would use for it.

"Okay, it might be a little weird at first," she acknowledged, "but trust me, this is gonna be good for all of us."

"I hope so." If this turned out to be pointless, he was going to be so pissed.

"Who are you more nervous about seeing," she asked, "Maria or Max?"

"I'm not—I'm not _nervous_ to see either one of 'em," he stuttered. "I just think it's gonna be weird."

"Weirder than that?" she asked, pointing out Fly, who was now running all around the party with only a red plastic cup covering his junk. He was letting loose this high-pitched wail and chasing girls up and down the stairs, whirling his underwear around his head like a lasso.

"Maybe not weirder than that," Michael said. "Just promise me you'll hold me back if I start layin' into Max."

"Promise _me_ you won't lay into him at all."

He groaned frustratedly. "Being mature really bites."

She reached down and squeezed his hand with both of hers, then rose up on her tiptoes with her lips puckered for a kiss. He gave her a quick one, then took another drink.

"You wanna dance?" she asked.

He would have, just because she was such a damn good dancer, but he glanced at the front door just in time to see the gruesome twosome show up. He noticed Maria first, mostly because she was . . . dressed up as a cowgirl. Jean shorts that weren't _too_ short, blue plaid shirt, brown boots and a lighter brown hat.

 _Oh, great._

Max was right behind her, but he was just wearing a suit. He looked totally out of place and uncomfortable there, which Michael personally enjoyed.

"Is that them?" Sarah inquired.

He exhaled slowly, bracing himself for the weirdest Halloween he would ever have. "Yep."

Maria saw him, too, and started picking her way through the crowd towards him. Max followed her like a fucking lap dog.

"She's pretty," Sarah said, her tone giving no indication that she was feeling insecure. Because she wasn't. That just wasn't Sarah.

When they were finally close enough, Maria managed a smile and a "Hey," in greeting.

Michael just halfway nodded to reciprocate.

Sarah, ever more bubbly, exclaimed, "Hi! You must be Maria."

"Yeah," Maria said shakily. "Hi . . . Sarah, right?"

"Right. Nice to meet you." She seemed to surprise Maria by giving her a quick hug, but Maria hugged her back.

Michael shot a quick glare at Max and then downed what remained of his beer. Time for a refill. The only way he was going to make it through this night was if he kept knocking back the giggle juice.

While he was bent over and refilling, he heard Max introduce himself. "Hi, Sarah. I'm Max. Good to meet you."

Michael grunted. _Yeah fucking right._

"Hi, Max," she said politely, though he'd put her under strict orders to not bother being too friendly with him tonight.

When he stood back up straighter, he took a closer look at Max's supposed costume, trying to figure out what the hell he'd been going for. It looked completely and utterly average to him. "What're you supposed to be?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm a . . . I'm a lawyer," Max replied.

"Huh, it sure is Halloween then." That would never happen in real life.

Maria shot him a sharp look, and Sarah of course did her best to keep things peaceful. "So, Maria . . . look at you," she said. "Cowgirl."

"Uh . . . yeah." Maria glanced worriedly at Michael. "I just didn't have anything else to wear."

"Well, I always go as a cowboy," he reminded her. She should have known. Jeans, white t-shirt, boots and hat. Simple and irresistible. It was his go-to Halloween look.

"Right, well, I just figured . . . Aggies. Our mascot's a cowboy, so . . ." Maria shrugged.

"I think you look great," Sarah chirped. "I saw a couple other girls dressed up as cowgirls, too, but it's all, like, too revealing." She cringed. "Yours is better."

"Thanks."

"And which goddess are you?" Max jumped in. "Artemis? Aphrodite?"

"No, Athena," Sarah corrected. "Because she's the goddess of wisdom, and I like to think I'm wise."

"You are," Michael assured her. Hell, the only reason why he'd agreed to this tonight was _because_ she was so damn smart and he figured she knew what she was doing. "Sarah's studying biochemistry. She's gonna be a pharmacist someday." He smirked, happy to be able to brag his girl up a bit.

"Wow," Maria said. "That's . . . impressive."

"Thanks," Sarah said. "What about you, Maria? Michael told me you're a great singer."

Their eyes met for a second, and Michael quickly looked away. He didn't want Maria knowing he'd told Sarah anything about her.

"Um, well, I'm—I'm studying music right now," she stammered, clearly more nervous than either he or Sarah was. "No solid plans."

"That sounds so fun," Sarah said. "I wish I could sing, but I'm completely tone-deaf."

"Ah, that's alright." Michael put his arm around her shoulders and praised, "You got plenty of other talents."

Sarah gave him a curious look, but he shrugged unapologetically. He really hadn't meant for that to come off as sexual, but it had. Whatever. That worked for him.

"Okay, well, Maria, what do you say we go find a bathroom?" Sarah suggested. "I know everyone thinks girls always have to go in pairs, but some stereotypes are just too good to pass up."

Maria laughed lightly, seemingly easing up a little more now. "Okay, sure."

"Alright. Later, guys." Sarah grabbed Maria's hand, and like the self-confident social butterfly she was, she led her through the crowd towards the stairs, narrowly escaping being hit by Fly as he came running back down.

That left Michael standing there with Max. So naturally, he was left with no choice but to toss back the rest of his beer and refill his cup for a third time. Luckily, Max got the hint and moseyed on away.

 _Been a while since I've_ really _been drunk,_ Michael thought. Somehow, this seemed like the perfect night for it.

...

Maria stepped over a drunk couple making out in the middle of the upstairs hallway and followed Sarah into the bathroom. It was large and miraculously still clean, and it was quiet compared to the rest of the party.

"Oh my gosh, I hope you don't mind," Sarah babbled as she shut the door. "I just couldn't even hear myself think down there, let alone carry on a conversation."

"Yeah, it was really loud," Maria agreed.

"And crowded," Sarah added.

"Yeah." Glancing at herself in the mirror, Maria couldn't help but be self-conscious. Her costume really paled in comparison to Sarah's. Sarah looked beautiful and flashy, but still classy. Maria felt like she looked like a hick, and that hadn't been what she was going for. Maybe if she'd put her hair in braided pigtails, she would have looked cuter, but that had just seemed so childish.

It wouldn't matter what she wore or how she did her hair, though, not when she was standing next to Sarah. Michael's girlfriend was _supernaturally_ pretty.

"Hey, so thank you so much for coming tonight," Sarah said, twisting the ends of her long, dark hair around her finger. "I'm really happy to be able to get to know you."

Maria considered that, not sure if it could possibly be true. "You are?" Honestly, was any girl ever _really_ happy to be meet her boyfriend's ex?

"Yeah. I know it's not typical, but I really think this is more of an opportunity than anything else," Sarah insisted.

"Uh-huh." Maria wasn't trying to be skeptical, but she couldn't help but wonder if this was all just an act. "Listen, I just—I feel like I need to apologize to you," she blurted, needing to get this off her chest.

Sarah cocked her head to the side inquisitively. "For what?"

Maria sighed, tracing her fingers along the edge of the sink counter. "For somehow ending up in this music class with Michael."

Sarah smiled teasingly. "Oh, yeah, 'cause you totally had control over that."

"Well, I should've made sure he told you everything sooner."

"Because you had control over that, too." Sarah laughed lightly. "Maria, there's absolutely nothing you need to apologize for. And I want you to know, I'm being completely genuine when I say I wanna get to know you. I have no ulterior motive or hidden agenda. This isn't some 'friends close, enemies closer' thing. I consider myself a mature adult, and that's how I intend to go about this whole situation."

 _God, she's so . . . confident and well-spoken,_ Maria thought enviously. _Two things I'm not._ "That's good to hear," she said, feeling a bit more relieved now. Based on what Michael had told her about Sarah and the vibe she was getting from her, this didn't feel like a set-up. It _did_ feel genuine.

"Honestly, between you and me, Michael's more nervous about all this than both of us." Sarah smirked.

"Is he?"

"Oh, yeah. And he should be. I mean, the current girlfriend _and_ the ex-girlfriend under one roof?" She huffed. "Any guy would be nervous. And then add in the fact that the ex-girlfriend brought her current boyfriend along . . . who _used_ to be her ex-boyfriend . . ." She trailed off, spinning her finger around in the air as she sorted all that out. "Am I clear on that, by the way?" she asked. "Did I get that right?"

"You did." It was easy to get confused, though. Her life was like a damn daytime soap opera. "So how much has he told you?"

Sarah shrugged. "He's told me some stuff. Mostly about how it all ended, and why."

Maria nodded, taking that in. "So you know . . . everything?" That meant she probably shared Michael's opinion on Max.

"I know the basics," Sarah said. "Really, as close as we are, though, he keeps that part of his life pretty closed off. I'm hoping that, with you around, he'll be willing to open up some more."

"I'm sure he will be," Maria assured her. "It's pretty obvious he adores you."

Sarah smiled giddily. "You think so?"

"Oh, yeah. From the second I saw you guys together, I could tell how into you he is." As juvenile as it sounded, she couldn't help but wonder if he used to look that way with her.

"Well, I sure hope he's into me," Sarah said. "It's been two years."

 _I didn't even get a year with him,_ Maria thought, feeling a pang in her chest. "That's a pretty long commitment."

"Yeah."

Nine months. That was what she'd gotten. And they'd only been romantic for about half that time. "He and I were never together that long."

"But while you were together, it seems like it was pretty . . . intense?" Sarah remarked questioningly.

Maria almost laughed, because that was exactly the word Michael had always used. To describe himself in the bedroom, mostly. "Yeah, that's a good word for it."

Sarah leaned against the counter, straightening out her long, flowing dress. "I have to admit, your life seems so . . . exciting and unpredictable," she said. "Sometimes I worry he might think I'm boring compared to you."

"Oh, no, I've known you for five minutes, and I can already tell you're the best thing that's ever happened to him," Maria reassured her. Besides . . . her life wasn't all that enviable.

"Thanks," Sarah said.

Lowering her head, she mumbled, "And I'm probably the worst thing."

"No, not at all."

Maria knew she was being hard on herself. She hadn't been the worst thing to happen to Michael Guerin, not by a long shot. But still . . . she hadn't been able to give him everything he needed, either, everything he needed to move forward in life and succeed. "I was really worried about him when I left," she admitted. "But I felt better when I found out he went to Alabama."

"How'd you find that out?" Sarah asked.

"Well, Kyle's injury got, like, national coverage. And in all the pictures they showed of him laying out on that field, Michael was there beside him." She remembered seeing that on TV, and seeing it online, and feeling absolutely agonized that she couldn't do anything about it. "I almost reached out to him when all that happened, but I thought I might do more harm than good."

"Yeah, I think it was a pretty traumatic time," Sarah said. "But it really forced Michael to grow up. He transferred back here just so he could help take care of Kyle. He drove him back and forth to doctor's appointments and physical therapy. He helped him find his house and make it wheelchair accessible. He stopped playing football just so he could be there for him."

 _God, I missed so much,_ Maria thought. In a way, she was glad she hadn't been around, though. Knowing that Michael had done all of this . . . she would have worried about him. "Michael and Kyle have always been really close," she said. "Is Kyle better now?"

Sarah shrugged halfheartedly. "Not really."

Maria sighed heavily, wishing for better news. "That must be really hard on Tess." It dawned on her, though, right after she said that, that Tess and Kyle might not even be together anymore, that perhaps this tragedy had driven them apart. "Are they . . . ?"

"Oh, yeah, they're still together," Sarah filled in. "Actually, Tess was the one who introduced me to Michael."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I met her at the rehab place Kyle went to—that's where I work. And she set the two of us up on a blind date."

"Oh, interesting." So Tess was a Sarah fan. Of course she was. "How'd it go?"

Sarah laughed a little. "Horrible."

"Right." Michael had never been known to make a great first impression.

"But the second date was better. And now I'm indebted to Tess Harding for life."

"So are you and Tess really good friends then?"

"Oh, yeah," Sarah replied without hesitation, "she's my best friend."

"Oh." Of course. Of _course_. "That must be really . . . nice." Two couples, two sets of best friends . . . it was so picture-perfect.

"Yeah, it's fun," Sarah said. "If we could just get Kyle back on his feet, then it'd be even better."

"Yeah." Maria had never been close to Kyle, but she hated to think of him going through something so difficult for so long. "At least you and Michael are doing well, though."

"Michael's doing great," Sarah informed her. "You should see his GPA."

Maria _felt_ the shock that swept across her face. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah."

She grunted, wondering just how high it was. "Unbelievable. This is the same guy who seriously considered dropping out of high school once."

"Thank God he didn't."

"Yeah, really." She remembered when he used to come into the Crashdown and vent about school, about how much he hated all his classes and all his teachers, and how he thought it was pointless to be there. She remembered hoping and praying back then, even when she'd still barely known him, that he wouldn't make the same mistake she had, that he'd do better. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "as crazy as it's been seeing him again, I'm really glad to see that he _did_ go to college and stick with it, and that he's working hard and making something of his life." She'd always known he had that in him. "It makes me feel really . . ." She trailed off as she searched for the right word.

"Proud," Sarah filled in simply after a few seconds. "You're proud of him."

It almost seemed like too generic of a word, but that was it in a nutshell. "Yeah," she said. "I am." This was all she had ever wanted for him, to get out there in the world and be someone. To go somewhere in life. She couldn't have any regrets.

"So am I," Sarah said, giving her a knowing, friendly smile.

Maria smiled back shakily, wondering if she would ever be able to tell Michael this someday, or if she would always just have to assume that he knew.

...

Desperately in search of another keg, Michael wandered through the frat house with his empty cup. What the hell was wrong with these stupid frat guys? They should have known they would need more booze.

"Yo, chico."

He stopped when he almost stepped on Fly. Naked Fly, in fact, who was sitting behind the couch with his legs sprawled straight out in front of him.

"You seen my pants?"

Michael reached over the back of the couch and picked up a pillow, dropping it onto his friend's lap to cover him up. "I've seen more than I want to, Fly."

"Heh-heh," Fly chuckled. "I'm naked."

"You're drunk." Michael's shoulders sagged with discontent. "Why am I not drunk?" He should have been three sheets to the wind by now.

A loud voice rang out, "You must've inherited a high tolerance."

Groaning, he turned around slowly, and there was Max. Quite frankly, he was pretty pissed off that the guy would even attempt to talk to him. Did he want to get his ass kicked again?

"It's the same for me," Max said. "I'm just like my dad. We both have to drink twice as much to be half as buzzed."

"Oh, so you're a druggie _and_ an alcoholic," Michael commented. "What a catch."

"I'm not anything like that anymore," Max claimed, sounding like a broken record. "Listen, Michael, I know you hate me, and I understand."

Michael chuckled angrily. Really, he understood? Really?

"But there's no reason to hold grudges and dwell on the past. We're both grown men now. What do you say we start fresh?" Max held out his hand for a peaceful handshake, but Michael wanted no part of that. Shaking Max's hand was the next step down from forgiving him, and he was nowhere close to forgiving him.

Ignoring Max's request, Michael pushed on past him and continued his search for another keg.

...

Some guy Maria didn't even know burped in her face. Right there on the stairs as they crossed paths . . . just burped in her face. Didn't even say sorry. It was disgusting.

"Oh, gross," she said, waving her hand in front of her face to try to fan away the fumes. Why had she come here again? Frat parties were so not her scene.

Near the bottom of the stairs, she looked over to where Michael and Sarah had been standing when she and Max had arrived. Michael was back there again, or maybe he'd never left. But he wasn't drinking anymore. Instead, he was just standing by himself, looking at a photo of the fraternity members on the wall. But it was like he was lost in thought, though, like he wasn't _really_ looking at any of the guys in the photograph.

She looked around for Max, but it had gotten even more crowded in the ten or twenty minutes she'd been upstairs, and she didn't see him. So she slipped between a girl dressed as a giant loaf of Wonder bread and a guy dressed as Aladdin and made her way over to the cowboy in the corner. "Hey," she said just loudly enough to get his attention.

He looked at her, then behind her at the stairs, "Where's Sarah?" he asked.

"She's still upstairs," she replied. "She said to tell you she'll be down in a minute." She'd started chatting with a gay guy from one of her chemistry classes, though. He'd been dressed as a snake charmer, with a plastic snake protruding from a _very_ certain part of his anatomy, and Sarah had gotten a kick out of it and stopped to talk to him.

"So," she said, testing the keg to see if there was anything left. Nope. Damn. "How crazy is it that we both went western with our costumes?"

"Pretty crazy," he agreed, his eyes locked on the framed photo on the wall again. He only stared at it for a few seconds longer, though, before he completely turned to face her. "What happened to the ghost?"

"Turns out I only have one set of plain white sheets, and they need to be washed, so . . ." She shrugged. "Cowgirl it is."

"Hmm." He pointed over her shoulder to a girl who was dressed like a Playboy bunny. "See that chick? She's gonna _reverse_ cowgirl later."

Maria gave him a curious look, surprised that he would say anything sexual around her tonight, even if it wasn't directed at her. "Are you drunk?"

"No." He snorted. "But it's not for lack of trying."

"Well, relax." Tonight was a brief cameo, nothing more. Taking Dylan out had been fun but exhausting, and she was ready to go home and get some sleep. "Max and I aren't gonna stay long."

"Good," he muttered. "No offense."

"None taken." This hadn't exactly been her ideal Halloween, either. "So I talked to Sarah."

"Yeah?" Automatically, he sounded interested. "What do you think?"

"I think . . . she's probably the nicest person I've ever met in my life."

He smirked. "Yeah, she gets that a lot."

"And she seems really smart, too."

"She is."

As petty as it was, it would have been nice to have _something_ bad to say about her. But there was nothing. Sarah was everything Michael had claimed she would be and more. "I really like her."

He raised one skeptical eyebrow and asked, "Are you just saying that?"

"No, I really do." She didn't seem like some high-maintenance diva, and she wasn't an airhead, and she wasn't an obnoxious slut. She was just a real, personable, likeable girl. "You found yourself a good one."

"Wish I could say the same for you."

She rolled her eyes, groaning, "Michael . . ."

"What? I was professional . . . earlier," he reminded her.

He had been. And that was, she supposed, a big step for him. Though if Sarah hadn't been here, he probably wouldn't have bitten his tongue so much. "I think I'm just gonna leave you with your beer," she decided. It was time to find Max and leave.

She started to walk away, but he called out to her, stopping her in her tracks. "Hey, Maria."

She turned back around slowly, thinking he was going to leave her with some parting shot about Max, some jab about how he wasn't good enough. But much to her surprise, he asked, "How'd you do it?"

Frowning, she didn't understand the question. "Do what?"

"Get your diploma." He looked her right in the eye intently. "I've been meaning to ask you."

She inhaled sharply, realizing in that moment that she'd been waiting for him to ask. "I didn't," she answered. "I studied for three months and got my GED."

He blinked in surprise. "I didn't know you could go to college with a GED."

She shrugged. "Community college. I took a couple classes at one of those, and then I transferred here."

Holding her stare, that intent look slowly morphed into a smile. "Good for you."

She smiled back at him, trying not to look too elated. But it was really good to hear that from him. As proud as she felt of him, it was nice to know that he was proud of her, too.

Turning away from him again, but feeling proud of herself now, too, she went to go find Max.

...

 _GED,_ Michael thought, smiling fondly to himself as Maria disappeared into the crowd. _Of course._ She'd just been out of high school too long to get a diploma, but there was nothing wrong with a GED.

He'd always known she could do it, and he was really glad she had.

When Sarah came back downstairs, he wasn't thrilled to see the snake charmer with her. He would have kicked into jealousy mode had the snake charmer not angled his snake directly at some other guy's ass. So he was a bun-duster. Good.

"Boyfriend!" Sarah squealed, scampering towards him. She threw herself into his arms and kissed him exaggeratedly. "How's it goin', pardner?" she asked in a ridiculously bad country accent.

"Mighty swell, ma'am, now that you're here," he played along, cringing right after he spoke. "Wait, what is that? That's old-fashioned. I'm not that kind of cowboy."

"What kind are you?" she asked eagerly.

"Well . . ." He put one hand around her back and held the other out to the side, clasped together with her hand, swaying side to side with her. "I'm the suave kind."

"Oh, suave?" she teased.

"Yeah. And the wild kind." He spun her around when she wasn't expecting it, and when he pulled her back in, she practically collided with him. "The sexy kind."

"Very sexy," she agreed, snaking her arms around his waist. She moved in close to him, holding him closely, content to dance off-beat with him even though she could dance better without him.

He stroked her hair, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo, but when he looked over her shoulder, he saw Maria dancing with Max, too. They weren't as close as he and Sarah were, but still . . . they were dancing.

She didn't notice him watching. Max didn't notice him watching. Sarah didn't notice him watching. So he didn't look away.


	22. Chapter 22

Trapped in the fleeting realm between sleep and consciousness, Michael kept his eyes closed as drool seeped out of his mouth. He wasn't about to make a move to wipe it away, though. No. No movement. No sound. Just sleep. Beautiful, majestic, amazing sleep.

The second his cell phone rang, his whole body jolted, and his head started to throb. The blissful comfort of sleep snuck away from him, and all he was left with was a headache and nausea.

"Oh . . ." he groaned, digging his head into the pillow, squinting his eyes at the bright red numbers on his alarm clock. Everything was blurry. The room felt like it was spinning.

 _Fuck,_ he thought. _Fuck my life._ This wasn't fair. He had a hangover? How? He hadn't even felt drunk last night. But now here he was suffering the consequences without even getting to enjoy a second of the buzz?

His phone continued to ring as he forced his haggard body up into a sitting position. When he looked down, he was completely confused. What the hell was this? The long snake from the snake charmer's costume was on him like a belt, jutting straight out from his crotch. "What the . . ." He tore it off, tossed it over the side of the bed, and fumbled around the mass of disarrayed sheets and covers to try to find his phone. His right hand stumbled upon it, probably just as the voicemail was about to kick on.

"What?" he barked, his voice hoarse.

"Well, good morning to you, too, son."

Normally he'd be willing to talk to his mom no matter when she called him—unless he was in the middle of sex, of course—but today was an exception. "No," he croaked. "Not a good morning." Lying back down flat on his stomach, he closed his eyes again and clutched his phone right in front of his mouth. "I feel like I'm gonna puke."

"Are you sick?" his mother fretted.

"No, hungover."

"Michael!"

"Relax, I'm twenty-one now. It's fine."

"Well . . ." She huffed. "I was just calling to see if you had a good Halloween, but apparently . . ."

"It was alright," he muttered.

"I take it you and Sarah went out."

"Yeah." He tried to yawn, but opening his mouth that wide make him feel like the chunks were rising up, so he quickly shut it again. "I wish we would've just stayed in and fooled around."

"Oh, goodness."

"What?"

"It's just that I don't need to hear this. I've already got one grandchild on the way."

Oh, shit, he hadn't meant anything like that. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay," she said softly. She must not have realized just quite how hungover he was, because she just kept talking, carrying on a conversation even though he wasn't saying much. "Well, Tina and I had a nice time. She actually came out of her room and helped me hand out candy."

"Cool." He set his phone on the empty mattress space next to his pillow and got all comfy, thinking that the only logical solution to overcome this hangover was just to go back to sleep.

"Yeah. We saw the cutest little boy dressed up like Snoopy," she kept going, unaware that he was only halfway listening now. "He looked just like you did when you were young. Except for the hair. You always had your own special kind of hair . . ."

The urge to sleep tugged at him again. Thank God.

...

 _God, I wish I could cook,_ Maria thought as she hastily assembled some bologna and cheese sandwiches. Liz had stopped by with Scarlet, and her mom was still there, and Max was home from work today, and Dylan had stayed home from school with a stomach ache. So everyone was there, and it was lunchtime, so everyone was expecting food.

Her mom hung around in the kitchen with her while Max and Liz played with Scarlet and Dylan in the living room. Either Dylan hadn't been all that sick to begin with this morning or he'd made a miraculous recovery, because he was crawling all over the floor with his little sister, helping Liz play peek-a-boo with her.

"How do you feel about that?" her mother asked.

"About what?" She swore internally when she accidentally knocked Dylan's sandwich down onto the floor. She didn't even have enough bread to make another one.

"Sharing Max with Liz and her daughter."

Maria made a face and bent down to pick up the sandwich and throw it away. "I don't 'share' Max," she said. "He's _my_ boyfriend. But he's Scarlet's father, too, so he should be in her life. Obviously." Unlike he had with Dylan, Max had never shied away from his fatherly responsibility towards Scarlet. He'd been there for her birth, cut the umbilical cord and everything. He paid child support, he played with her . . . it was like he'd learned from all the mistakes he'd made with Dylan.

"I don't know if I'd be so okay with it," Amy said, casting a suspicious glance back over her shoulder.

"That's because you're uptight," Maria snapped. "And close-minded."

"No, I am just cautious."

"You're paranoid," Maria argued. "We're not teenagers anymore. We can all get along and co-exist without all this drama getting in the way."

"Well, I sure hope so." Her mother looked into the living room again and remarked, "She's very pretty."

"Who, Scarlet or Liz?"

"Both, really."

Maria raked one hand through her hair, honestly not even seeing the point of this conversation. Her mom was such a drama queen sometimes. "Well, I adore Scarlet," she said. "And Liz is my friend."

"Well, you're quite the social butterfly these days, aren't you? Friends with Liz, friends with Joan." Her mother rolled her eyes. "If Joan even exists."

Maria made a face. "What do you mean?" She hadn't let anything slip. Had _Max_ let something slip? He wouldn't have.

"Maria, you spent the better part of your freshman year of high school lying to me," her mom pointedly reminded her. "I can recognize it when it's happening."

Maria averted her eyes, knowing it was pointless to pretend that Joan was real. Her mom was annoying, but she wasn't stupid.

"Where'd you go last night?" she questioned.

"To a party."

"With who?"

"Max."

"Who else?"

She whimpered instead of answering.

"So you _were_ lying," her mother deduced.

Great. This was just great. Now they were going to get into a fight while Liz and Scarlet were over there. Well, if it was bound to happen, the very least they could do was go into a separate room.

Maria grabbed her mom's hand and pulled her out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into her and Max's bedroom. She shut the door firmly and started in. "Okay, you have to promise that you won't freak out."

"Why? Is there something to freak out about?"

"Just—you can't say anything or do anything when I tell you this, okay?" This was probably all in vain, but anything was worth a shot. "You just have to stand there and nod your head. Okay?"

"Just tell me."

" _Okay_?" She wasn't say anything until she had at least some little reassurance that this wouldn't blow up into one of their classic arguments.

"Fine."

Maria let out a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. "Okay. So last night, Max and I went to the party to meet up with . . . someone. Someone you probably wouldn't expect."

Amy crossed her arms over her chest. "Who?"

Maria gulped, bracing herself. "Michael."

Her mom's facial expression didn't change; she didn't move. She just stood there, not saying anything, as instructed, for about ten seconds. The silence was eerie, though, and almost more uncomfortable than any yelling would have been. And then finally . . . the inevitable.

"Are you out of your _mind_?" her mother screeched. "What on Earth are you thinking? Why would you think that's a good idea? Seriously, Maria!"

 _Here we go,_ she thought, trying to block as much of this out as she could and just stand there and take it. _Here we go._

...

Liz didn't want to be nosy, but it was kind of hard to ignore the loud voices coming from the closed bedroom. Angry voices. Mother/daughter voices that were . . . accustomed and resigned to fighting, it seemed.

"Honestly, Maria, I don't know what's wrong with you!" she heard Amy shout viciously. "I don't know what's going on in your head sometimes!"

"You said you were just gonna nod!" Maria yelled back.

"Oh, give me a break!"

Liz smiled nervously at Max, glad to see that Dylan was too preoccupied tickling Scarlet to be distracted by any of this. "How long is that gonna last?" she asked Max.

He, too, seemed used to it. "Could go on a while," he said.

Liz listened a little more, surprised by what she was hearing. Unless she was hearing it wrong. "Are they fighting about . . ." She lowered her voice to a whisper so that Dylan wouldn't overhear. "Michael?"

Max nodded mutely.

Again, she listened, totally aware that she was just openly eavesdropping now, and she started to piece together what, specifically, they were fighting about. "You guys hung out with him last night?"

"Momentarily," Max said. "Him _and_ his girlfriend."

That seemed . . . a little strange. "Why?"

Max shrugged flippantly. "His girlfriend wanted to meet Maria. Maria wanted me to go along."

 _Awkward double date,_ Liz thought. But then again . . . here she was sitting in Max's living room. And it didn't feel awkward. So maybe it wasn't such a big deal. "Are you okay with all this?" she asked, just in case he needed someone to talk to.

"Yeah." He smiled at her. "But thanks for bein' concerned."

She'd been concerned about him for years, ever since he'd left Roswell. But ever since then, he'd given her reason to _not_ be concerned. He'd made the right choices and gotten his life back on track. He knew what he was doing. So if he was okay with all of this, then it was fine.

"Scarlet, come here," he said, getting down on the floor. "Come to Daddy."

Scarlet immediately started crawling over to him, but Dylan grabbed her foot and tried to stop her. She let out a little yelp but kept going, and when she got to Max, he picked her up and rolled over onto his back, lifting her into the air. She giggled and gurgled, and Liz leaned back against the couch, content to just watch them together.

...

Michael felt like a zombie, and he knew he probably looked like one, too. He'd pretty much been useless all afternoon, which was probably why Vanessa had put him back on filing duty rather than having him do anything substantial.

As the buses showed up out front and the kids piled on and left, Michael started to grow increasingly more tired. Afternoons were perfect for naps, but between school and work and his practicum, he rarely found time for a nap anymore.

"Wild night?" Vanessa remarked as she feverishly responded to emails.

"Yeah." No harm in admitting it since it was so damn obvious.

"I've had a few of those," she said.

"Really?" That surprised him. Vanessa always seemed so straight-laced.

"Oh, yeah. Anyone who works with kids on a daily basis—counselor, teacher, principal—needs to know how to unwind."

"Huh." He smirked, closing the filing cabinet. "That might be the greatest advice you've ever given me."

"Oh, trust me, it is," she affirmed. "After your practicum wraps up, you and your girlfriend should grab some drinks with Brody and me."

"Sounds like a plan," he told her, although truthfully, the idea of barhopping with his boss and practicum supervisor wasn't the most appealing thing in the world. Any double date with them had to be better than one with Maria and Max, though. "Alright, well, I think I'm gonna head out."

"Go home. Sleep it off," she told him.

"Yeah, right. See ya."

"Bye."

He grabbed his coat and headed out.

Because he'd been a little slow-moving that morning, he hadn't gotten to the school at his usual time, and the parking lot had been full. So that meant he had to trek through the entire school building and out to the back parking lot. He didn't normally go out that way, but today, he was glad he had, because he got to see the little guys on the school's youth football team out on the field at practice. They were all swimming in their oversized white jersey's, and half of them had their helmets on wrong. Michael stood there for a minute and watched them, remembering when he used to be one of them. He'd always been the distracted kid who was more intent on catching mosquitoes than listening to anything the coach had to say. Kyle, on the other hand, had always been the totally focused one.

Dylan was out there. He was wearing the number sixty-six jersey, probably only because this school didn't let them wear sixty-nine.

 _So he still likes football._ Michael smirked. _Good._

Unfortunately, instead of doing any actual coaching, the only coach out there was yelling at his six and seven year-old players. Literally _yelling_ , at the top of his lungs. "That's it!" he roared, throwing his clipboard down at his feet. "You guys don't listen! You don't even try!" He tore his whistle from around his neck and threw it out onto the field like a child having a temper tantrum. "I've had it! I've had it with this! I'm done! I quit!"

The little boys stood there and watched helplessly as their coach stormed off the field. He stomped right past Michael, bumping into him without apology. He was really fuming, huffing and puffing and blowing smoke out of his ears. On a field full of children, he managed to seem the most childish of them all.

Michael thought about stopping him, trying to calm him down, trying to get him to understand that it wasn't right for him to just leave all these little boys out there on the field with no idea what to do. But he was gone. High-tailed it out of there. And the boys just kept giving each other these confused looks, like they didn't know whether to be sad or happy about this new development.

 _Shit,_ Michael thought. _I gotta do something._

He scurried out onto the field just as the boys were starting to talk to each other, knowing he had to take charge of this fast to maintain—or rather create—order. "Hey, uh . . . hey, guys, come here," he said, motioning for them to circle up. "Come here."

Dylan smiled from ear to ear. "Micho!"

 _Yeah, it's Micho,_ he thought, not sure what he was planning to do here. "Now, I think your coach is a little upset," he told them calmly.

"He always yells at us," one of the kids mumbled, hanging his head.

"Right. Well, sometimes that's what coaches do." It could be effective, under the right circumstances.

"He says we suck," Dylan added.

 _Seriously?_ Michael wondered. _They're kids._ "Well, he—he shouldn't do that," he acknowledged. "Now come on, I'm sure you guys know how to play. Why don't you show me what you got?" He backed up from the circle a bit, waiting for them to move into position. But none of them did. _Right. Kindergarteners,_ Michael reminded himself. _First graders._ He had to be more explicit in his instruction. "Line up," he tried.

They all looked over their shoulders at the wide open field, and once again, Dylan was the mouthpiece of the group. "We don't know where to go."

Michael scratched his eyebrow, a bit surprised that it was now November and they still didn't know. What kind of shoddy coaching had they received? "Okay, well, who's quarterback?" he questioned.

A tan, dark-haired kid hesitantly raised his hand. "Me, I think."

"You think." Oh, this was gonna be harder than he thought. "Okay, great. It's Luke, right?" He recognized this kid from the Circle of Friends lunches he and Vanessa set up for a couple of the school's autistic kids.

Luke nodded.

"You go here." Michael walked out onto the field and stood in the exact spot he wanted Luke to stand. Luke seemed nervous, but he slowly walked up and took his place.

Sensing that no one else would know what positions they were supposed to play, Michael grabbed a few kids and positioned them as an offensive line. "You guys stand in front of him, just like that."

"Charlie snaps the ball," Dylan informed him.

"Charlie." Michael whirled around, coming face to face with a hefty red-headed kid who reminded him of a younger version of Ham from _The Sandlot._ "Are you Charlie?"

Scowling, the kid nodded.

"Alright, here you go." Michael moved him into the center of the line and nudged the football toward him with his foot. Charlie just stared at it, so Michael bent down and picked it up for him, handing it over. "Who's on defense?"

The kids looked at each other unsurely, as if they had no idea what defense even meant.

"Okay, uh . . . you, you." Michael arranged the heaviest kids on the defensive line. " _Definitely_ you." That left only Dylan, as far as he could see. "Hey, DeLuca," he said. "Are you our receiver?"

"Yeah!" Dylan exclaimed.

"Savage." Hopefully all those backyard games of catch would pay off. "Alright, when Charlie snaps the ball, you're gonna run down there and catch it alright. And our defensive guys and offensive guys are gonna square off."

"What about me?" a high-pitched voice squeaked out.

Michael turned around and saw a kid so short and scrawny, he literally hadn't even noticed him before. "Are you a receiver, too?" he asked.

The kid shrugged. "I guess so."

Well, he was going to have to be. He sure as hell couldn't go on either side of the line. "What's your name?"

"Melvin."

Who named their kid Melvin? It was like sentencing him to nerd-hood before he even reached puberty. "Okay, then, Melvin, you can both run down. And our quarterback here . . ." He patted Luke on the shoulder confidently. ". . . is gonna throw it to one of you. Aren't you, Luke?"

Luke whimpered, "I'll try."

"Alright, let's get set. You got this." He clapped loudly to get them amped up and then trotted off to the side. A few of the boys had common sense enough to crouch down, but Charlie the center just stood there with the ball in his hands, staring at it as if he had no idea what to do with it.

"Set!" Michael yelled for them. They finally got the hint and all got in position. "Hike!"

It was a bad snap, needless to say, but Charlie did manage to pitch it back to Luke. Luke held onto it and ran back a bit. As the offensive guys and defensive guys unsurely pushed at each other, Luke threw a wobbly pass forward, probably intending for it to go to Dylan. Dylan had run too far down the field, though, so that left only Melvin to make the catch. Melvin didn't make the catch. He tripped over his own shoelaces and fell flat on his face, and the ball landed three feet ahead of him.

Michael scratched the back of his neck and winced at the ugliness of it all, trying to maintain a positive tone. "That's alright, Melvin," he said. "Good try."

Dylan came running back and helped Melvin up. Melvin was crying. Oh, great.

"Walk it off, Melvin," Michael told him. "Okay, guys, bring it on in."

Shoulders slumped, the boys trudged forward, circling up around him once again.

"That wasn't bad," Michael lied. "That was—that was a good start. What did you learn from that? What can we do better?"

Charlie scrunched up his face as he looked up at him. "Who are you?"

"He's Micho," Dylan hissed.

"I'm Mr. Guerin," Michael replied. "I work with Ms. Whitaker."

"He's cool," Dylan added, nodding emphatically.

Charlie looked him up and down, obviously unimpressed. "I don't think he's that cool."

 _You snot-nosed little bastard,_ Michael thought. Even though he liked working with kids, kids like this drove him nuts. "You don't—you don't think I'm cool, huh?" he said, not at all offended. "Dude, I was Snowball king."

The kids just stared at him as if that had no meaning whatsoever.

Well, clearly there was only one way to step up and prove himself to this crew. He took off his jacket and shook his arms and legs out, ready to get down to business. "Alright, Luke, I want you to throw this ball as hard as you can, as far as you can. Got it?" he instructed, taking the football from Charlie and handing it to the quarterback.

Luke nodded.

"And Charlie . . . you can _try_ to catch me," he halfway taunted, grinning at the obnoxious kid. "Let's go!" He took off down the field at a steady gallop, watching over his shoulder as Luke got his fingers positioned on the pigskin, then launched it as far as his little arms would let him. It was a little underthrown, so Michael cut back in and caught it. It made a _thwack_ sound as it hit his hands. The boys' eyes were already big as saucers, but he wasn't done yet. He ran it into the end zone while Charlie made a feeble attempt at chasing after him, and he spiked it down on the ground.

"Wow!" the boys said. "Whoa! Awesome!"

"Yeah! Who's cool now, bro?" Michael called back, well aware that he had probably just looked like an NFL player in these kids' eyes. They were all yelling and clapping and jumping up and down with excitement. "Told you," Dylan was boasting. "Told you he was cool."

 _Fuck yeah,_ Michael thought. It felt good to be out on a field again. "Now come on," he blared, "let's play some ball!"

"Yeah!" they exclaimed, rushing towards him. Even Charlie joined in.

Parents started showing up about a half an hour later. Michael waited until all the boys had been picked up, paying special attention to whether it was Maria or Max who would come to get Dylan. But as it turned out, it was neither of them. He rode home with Luke instead. All in all, every boy looked ten times more excited and animated than he had at the start of practice. It seemed like they'd all had a good time.

Even though he was supposed to have gone home, Michael headed back inside and crossed through the school again, making the trek back to the office. Vanessa was still there, still sitting at her desk, still looking at her computer screen. She looked tense, more stressed than she had when he'd left half an hour ago. "Oh, seriously . . ." she was groaning, but when she saw him, she sat up straighter and said. "Michael. I thought you left."

"I did. Kinda." He was probably going to be late for work at this point, but . . . oh, well. "What's wrong?"

She ran one hand through her hair, motioning for him to the shut the door. He did, and when she spoke again, it was quietly but tensely. "The principal informed me that our pee-wee football coach just quit. He wants me—why me? I don't know—to ask around our staff to find a replacement. I mean, I think they only have a few more games, but still . . . nobody's gonna wanna do it. That's why we rely on these parent volunteers."

 _Looks like I walked in at the perfect time,_ Michael thought, offering himself up for the job without hesitation. "I'll do it."

She blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I was out there with 'em just now. It was fun."

She got up out of her chair and came around to the other side of her desk, sitting back against it. "Michael," she said, folding her arms over her chest, "there's no pay. And I know you're already busy."

"You said it's only a couple more games, right?" He shrugged, figuring it couldn't be _too_ intensive. "I can do it."

She looked hopeful she'd found her man, but still, she asked, "Are you sure you want to?"

"Yeah. You told me to step up here, remember? Besides, I like football." And this gave him the chance to spend time with Dylan again, too, though it was probably best to leave that out.

"Okay." Vanessa breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. "Well, thank you. That helps a lot."

"Aren't you gonna ask me if I'm any good?"

"At football?"

"Yeah." He grinned smugly, waiting for her to ask.

"Michael, it's a pee-wee league," she said. "You don't have to be any good at it to coach it."

"I am, though," he insisted. "I'm really good."

"I'm sure you are."

"I'm not kidding. I was out on the field at the University of Alabama." Of course, that had only been for one play, but it would've been more if . . . stuff hadn't happened.

"Then you'll be a great coach," she proclaimed.

"Hell, yeah." Having been away from football for a few years now, he was downright pumped to get back to it, even if it was just in a coaching capacity. "You just watch. These kids are gonna win the championship."

"Hmm, good luck with that." She gave him a pat on the shoulder and informed him, "They've lost every single game they played." With a satisfied smirk of her own, she went back to her computer chair and sat down to continue working.

 _Shit,_ Michael thought. So the poor display of athleticism he'd seen today wasn't just a fluke. Those kids were really as clueless as they seemed. That was okay, though, because they weren't a lost a cause. They had potential. And Michael knew all about that.

...

By the time Sarah got home from work that night, Michael was practically incapacitated on the couch, struggling to stay awake. He had an icepack on his head to try to cure the hangover from hell. It was probably more of an exhaustion headache at this point, but whatever it was, it wasn't going away. A good night's sleep—and maybe some sex—was probably the only real cure.

"Well, well," Sarah said, swaying towards him, "look who sobered up."

"I didn't even feel like I was drunk," he complained, struggling to sit up. "I don't know how I got so hungover."

She sat down beside him, asking, "What's the last thing you remember?"

He removed the ice pack from his forehead, and he had a flash pop into his mind of Maria and Max, moving in time with the music, arms around each other, unaware that he even saw them. "Dancing," he answered vaguely.

"Yeah, and then a new keg showed up, so there was more drinking," she informed him. "Do you remember Chester flirting with you?"

Did he even _know_ a Chester? "Who's that?"

"The guy in my chemistry class."

"The snake charmer?" Dots were starting to connect.

"Yeah. He was totally into you. You flirted back."

"What?" he shrieked, mortified.

She giggled. "No, just kidding."

"Oh, thank God." That was a relief of epic proportions. "Shit, don't—don't say that. You can't say that kind of thing to a guy."

"Sorry," she apologized. "You _were_ pretty hammered, though."

"So how'd I end up with the snake?" If he hadn't flirted back . . .

"I took it from Chester, and I put it on you after I tucked you into bed," she explained.

"You tucked me in?"

"Yeah, but you kept getting up and running around, and I kept having to drag you back. Like a toddler."

"Yeah, that sounds like me." The drunker he got, the more childish he tended to become.

"And one time you even got up and did this sexy dance."

He grinned, leaning a little closer. "A sexy dance, huh?"

"Well, _you_ thought it was sexy," she clarified. "I thought it was ridiculous."

 _Crash and burn,_ he thought. Luckily he was past the point of having to impress her. "Wow, am I a great boyfriend or what?"

"Oh, stop," she said, hitting his shoulder playfully, "it was entertaining."

He shook his head, not all that thrilled with the vision of himself he was getting. "I shouldn't get that drunk around you."

"If you can't get that drunk around me, then who can you get that drunk around?"

"Kyle," he answered, though he hadn't done that for a long time. "Steve, the guys."

"Relax, I got a good laugh out of it," she assured him.

Well . . . no harm, no foul then. As long as she wasn't mad and this damn hangover was better by tomorrow, then it was probably fine after all. "So you had a good time last night?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did." She smiled fondly. "Maria gave me her number."

"Check you out, scorin' a chick's number," he teased, giving her a celebratory little fist bump.

"I know, I'm pretty much a stud."

But if she now had Maria's phone number, then that meant . . . _Oh, fuck._ "So this is gonna be, like, a continuous thing then," he assumed. "You and Maria . . . _hangin'_ out."

"I don't know. We'll see," she responded casually. "We got along well. I like her. She seems really cool."

"I think she liked you, too."

"You think?"

He gave her a look. "Sarah, everybody likes you."

She shook her head. "Not Annie McMullen from the fourth grade. I purposefully sabotaged her volcano project so she wouldn't get a better grade than me. And she knew about it."

"Wow, you're a bitch," he teased.

"I know." She laughed. "Okay, no, seriously, though, if it's too weird for you with me and Maria getting to know each other, it's not something I _have_ to do."

He lay back down, figuring he'd do best to just stay the hell out of it as much as he could. "Just go for it."

"Are you sure?"

He put his icepack back on his head. "It's what you want."

"What about what _you_ want?"

He shrugged as best as he could in his horizontal position and told her, "I just wanna make you happy."

She shifted positions and lay down on top of him, her chin pressing gently into his chest. "You do," she reassured him. "You do make me happy."

He moved his icepack over to the side of his head and said, "I'll tell you what, though: If I have to play nice with Max again, I'm gonna need some more beer." Didn't even matter how bad the hangover was.

She laughed lightly and moved her arms around him so that she was pretty much hugging him. And like the amazing girlfriend she was, she didn't launch into some lecture about how it would be good for him to bury the hatchet with Max and move forward. She just accepted that that would never happen and cuddled up with him instead.


	23. Chapter 23

_Tuesday. Multiple choice & short answer. 200 points._

Michael stared at the board in horror. "What the hell is this?"

"A test," Maria replied simply.

"Since when do we have tests in this class?"

"Since now, apparently." She sounded completely unconcerned, naturally, because she knew stuff about music.

"This is bullshit," he swore, halfway raising his hand in a feeble attempt to object to this injustice. But it was no use. The professor dismissed the class, and people started packing up. "We don't even take notes. What am I supposed to study?"

"It's a music class, Michael," Maria reminded him. "He wants it all to be very auditory."

"But I'm not an auditory learner. Some stuff just goes in one ear and right out the other. I'm visual." He drew an exaggerated design in the air with his hands. "I need to see things. Or at least read 'em. And I took notes, but I don't even know where I put 'em."

She stared at him curiously for a few seconds, then bluntly asked, "How long have you been a nerd?"

"Couple years now," he confessed, bending forward to unzip his backpack and put his computer inside. He probably shouldn't have wasted so much class time playing Jetpack Joyride today. But he'd been under the assumption that he wouldn't have to actually study for anything until finals.

"Well, apparently you're still a pretty big jock, too," she commented as people started to file out all around them. "Dylan told me about football practice."

Michael cracked a smile. "He did, huh?"

"Yeah. He kept going on and on about how cool it was when you showed them how to catch a pass and how much everyone likes you now."

 _As long as they respect me,_ he thought. His own experience as a very disrespectful student had taught him that it was way more important to be respected than liked.

"So are you gonna coach them now?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. Their old coach—I think he was, like, that Melvin's stepdad or something—he was an ass."

Michael's eyes once again drifted back to the board while she kept talking. _Tuesday,_ he registered. _Test on Tuesday._ Shit, this sucked.

"Michael?" she broke into his thoughts. "Are you even listening?"

He jerked his head towards her. "What?"

She squinted her eyes at him, as if she were studying his body language or something. "You're, like, _really_ worked up about this test, aren't you?" she concluded.

He tried to play it cool as he got to his feet. "It's fine."

"No, it's not. You're agonizing."

"Hey, I'm not the same bottom-of-the-barrel student I was back in high school," he pointed out, swinging his backpack up over his shoulders. "I've got a tradition of academic excellence to uphold here."

"So I've heard." She stood up, too, eyeballing him closely. "So how high is this GPA of yours anyway?"

Damn, it was so hard to be modest. "Pretty high."

"What, like a 3.5?"

He snorted. "No."

"3.4?"

"Wrong direction."

Her eyes got a little wider. "3.6?"

He shook his head.

"Oh my god, you don't seriously have a 4.0, do you?"

If only it weren't for that chemistry class his freshman year, then he might have. "3.8," he informed her.

Her eyebrows arched in astonishment. "Wow. That's like . . . really good."

"I know."

"How'd that happen?"

He shrugged. "I just studied my ass off freshman year because I had nothing better to do."

"But I thought you met Sarah that year."

"I did, but by that point, I'd already developed . . . good habits." He grinned like an idiot, because there had been a time—a time not really all that long ago—when he would have thought good habits were for pussies.

"You're, like, the poster child for turning it all around," she said.

Was he? Because she was the one who'd still made it to college after dropping out of high school. "Well, so are you."

A subtle smile swept her face. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, looked down at the floor for a few seconds, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "You know," she said, hesitantly lifting her face to look back up at him, "I could probably help you study for this test." A short pause later, she added, "If you want."

He definitely needed help, though he wasn't exactly proud to admit it. He'd dropped the ball with Music Appreciation and had neglected to take it seriously. "Yeah," he replied, having flashbacks to his reluctant and sporadic participation in the Study Buddies tutoring program at West Roswell High.

"Do you have time today?" she asked him.

He was supposed to meet Fly for another rousing game of Frisbee. But that could wait. "Okay, sure." For this particular test, he was in desperate need of a good study buddy.

...

Maria shuffled up her flash cards, glad now that she'd taken the time to make them. Unlike Michael, she'd been in the class since the beginning, and she'd received the course syllabus and outline on day one. So she'd always known this test was coming, and she was prepared.

"What type of music was Louis Armstrong known for?" she quizzed him, covering up the answer on the back of the notecard.

"Uptown funk," he replied jokingly. "I don't know."

"What kind of music have we been studying?" she hinted.

He grunted unappreciatively. "Not _my_ kind of music."

She moved her hand so he could see the answer on the back of the card. "So you don't appreciate jazz then."

"No, I appreciate grunge and metal and old school hip hop."

"I think that's in Music Appreciation 2," she informed him. The courses were designed to be chronological.

"Well . . ." He stared straight at her. "I'll keep that in mind."

She shuffled through her flashcards some more, trying to locate another one that would be a knowable question. He kept watching her, though, and that in and of itself was distracting. But then he started laughing lightly to himself, trying to stifle it but not really succeeding. A couple other people sitting around the library started to shoot him annoyed looks, and one person even hissed, "Shh!"

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Nothing. It's just . . ." He trailed off.

" _What_?" she pressed.

"Well, I was just thinking about . . ." He trailed off again and started over. "When you offered to help me study, the first thing that came to mind was . . . phosphorous." He grinned dopily.

"Oh my god," she groaned, momentarily hiding her face with her hand. She knew instantly what he was referencing: their ridiculously unusual yet somehow effective method of studying the elements of the periodic table. For every one, he'd found some part of her body to kiss or touch that corresponded with it, started with the same letter. Phosphorous had been a highlight.

"We should not talk about that," she decided, figuring it was inappropriate. "Ever. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, but he was still smirking. "Now you're thinkin' about it, too?"

"Shut up." She tried not to smile, but . . . hell, it was a good memory. "Oh, I never thought we'd be studying for another test together."

"I never thought I'd see you again," he added, reaching over to take the flashcards from her.

"I never thought I'd go to college."

He grunted, echoing, "I never thought _I'd_ go to college, let alone do well at it."

She wouldn't say this to his face, but there had been a time when she'd doubted any of this was possible for him. He just hadn't been motivated or disciplined enough. "Do you have any scholarships?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Seriously?" It was like his life was brand new or something.

"Oh, yeah. I turned down the football one, though."

"Because of Kyle?" she guessed.

"Yeah. But I got some academic ones last year and this year." He held up a card that said _The Angry Man of Jazz_ on the front.

"Charles Mingus," she responded. Even though jazz wasn't her favorite genre, either, she knew her stuff. "It's crazy how much has changed," she remarked, her mind wandering from the topics they were supposed to be studying. "Crazy in a good way, though."

He shuffled up the flashcards some more and snickered. "You should see me in my psych classes."

"Why?"

"I'm, like, the star student."

"Really?" Now he _had_ to be exaggerating.

"Yeah. Everyone else hates me 'cause I always answer all the questions."

This coming from the guy who used to view most classes as an extended naptime? "Huh, I'd kind of like to see that."

He thought about it for a moment, then said, "Well, you can. Come to class with me."

"What?"

"Yeah. Social Psychology. It starts in twenty minutes."

In twenty minutes, she was supposed to be going to the grocery store. And the post office. And all these other places to run all these other errands she should have run earlier. "I can't just go sit in on some psychology class," she said.

"Sure you can. You'll blend right in with everyone else who has no idea what we're talking about."

She laughed sarcastically. "Oh, gee, thanks."

He handed her flashcards back to her and started packing up his stuff. "Come on, it's interesting," he persisted, getting to his feet. "We're talking about Bruce Jenner."

Even though it was Maria's full intention to decline and get on with her day, somehow, some way, she ended up in an unfamiliar lecture hall in an unfamiliar class with an unfamiliar professor. She sat with Michael and acted like she belonged there as the professor showed a quick video clip, did a brief mini-lecture, and then opened up discussion to the group.

"Based on the accumulated research we've read about and expert opinion we've heard, and based on the testimonials we've observed, how can we differentiate between sex and gender?"

Michael's hand went up almost immediately.

The professor, as if he was accustomed to it, turned straight to him. "Michael."

Michael sat up straighter and cleared his throat. "Alright, so the two terms are used interchangeably, even though they shouldn't be. Sex is biological, it's physiological. It has to do with chromosomal, hormonal, gonadal characteristics. But gender's more of a societal construction of behaviors, roles, and expectations that _typically_ adhere to the norm. But not always."

Maria stared at him in disbelief. Who was this person? What we were these words coming out of his mouth? She'd never heard him speak so . . . intelligently.

" _Typically,_ " the professor emphasized. "But clearly what the Jenner case is doing is shedding an incredibly bright, incredibly publicized spotlight on the _a_ typical, the instances where sex and gender don't quite align. Thoughts on that?"

Michael waited a few seconds this time, but when no one else raised their hand, his went up again.

"Yes, Michael," the professor called on him.

"Well, I feel like I used to be pretty close-minded about it," he said, "and maybe I still am. 'cause sex is just a natural feature, so it's really simple to use that as your one and only identifier of male or female. But if you buy into gender as its own separate concept and accept it as a—I don't know, a culturally learned significance rather than something inherent, then you sort of have to take the full scope of masculine and feminine into account. And that's more variable, so that makes it more complicated."

"Complicated," the professor echoed. "I think that's exactly the right word to use for it."

It all sounded complicated to Maria. Music was so much easier for her to understand.

"Thank you for sharing your opinion, Michael," the professor said, though he was clearly looking to get more people involved. He scanned the room, asking, "Other thoughts, other ideas?"

Silence.

"Anyone else?"

Crickets.

"I suppose I could always call on people at random." He pointed to someone a few rows back and said, "You in the blue sweatshirt. What do you think about this?"

"Hole or pole, man," the kid replied. "That's all it comes down to."

Maria drifted out of the discussion, fixated on Michael instead. This was amazing. He was proving how smart he'd probably always been, living up to that potential people had always said he had.

"Star student," she agreed. He definitely hadn't been exaggerating.

He smirked. "Told you."

...

Liz grimaced as she taste-tested her newest creation. It was a mixture of a couple things, and she hadn't given a name to it . . . and now she wasn't going to, because it tasted like crap. There, that was the name of it. Crap.

"Scarlet, Mommy screwed this one up," she told her daughter, spitting what was in her mouth out into a napkin. Behind the counter, Scarlet looked up from the blocks she was playing with and giggled.

"It's not funny," Liz said. "I worked hard on this." She winked playfully at her little girl, and that got another giggle.

The door chimed, and into the bakery walked Doug, dressed in his usual business attire.

"Hey, Doug," she greeted, a little confused as to why he was there. She thought she'd made it pretty clear after their last date that she just didn't see a relationship developing between the two of them, that the chemistry just wasn't happening.

"Hey, Liz," he returned, peeking over the counter and waving at Scarlet. "Hey, Scarlet."

Scarlet was too busy chewing on a block now to pay him much attention.

"What're you doing here?" Liz asked, maintaining a friendly tone. Doug was, after all, a friend. That was how they'd left it.

"I was just heading by on my way home from work," he replied. "I just wanted to stop in so I could thank you."

"Oh." She frowned, confused. "For what?"

"Well, I know our dates didn't amount to what we had hoped they would," he acknowledged, "but it really got me thinking: You're an amazing girl."

 _Oh god, where is this going?_ she wondered worriedly. "Thank you."

"I really mean it. You're smart, talented, independent. Any man would be lucky to be with you."

She didn't know how to respond, so she just said, "Thank you," again.

"But if I couldn't make it work with you, this amazing girl . . . if that chemistry just wasn't there . . . then maybe _I'm_ the problem."

Her heart immediately went out to him, because she hadn't meant for him to end up feeling bad about himself. "Oh, no, Doug, you're great. Trust me. You're a really great guy."

"No, I know," he said. "I'm just not . . . boyfriend material. That's the problem."

"You are, though," she insisted. "For someone."

"Right," he agreed. "Just . . . not for a girl."

She shook her head, taken aback by that. "What?" Had she really just heard that right?

"I'm gay," he declared proudly. "That's what I realized after my dates with you. I'm gay."

Her mouth slowly dropped open, not _because_ he was gay—no, with the metrosexual tendencies, that actually made sense—but because he'd only realized this _after_ dating her. Had it really been _that_ bad?

"So thank you," he concluded, "for opening my eyes to myself. Now I can be who I am really am."

"Yes." She wasn't quite sure how to react, but clearly he was trying to express his gratitude, so she said, "Well . . . you're welcome."

"I'll stop in sometime and let you know how it's goin'," he told her. "Right now, I have to jet. I have my first gay date with a guy named Chester."

"Well . . . good luck then."

"Thanks." He leaned in and gave her a completely platonic kiss on the cheek, then said, "Bye, Scarlet," she left with a bounce in his step.

"Oh my god," she managed, dumbfounded.

Seconds later, the door chimed again, and in came Alex. "Hey, do you know any good pastry shops in Carlsbad?" he teased. "I can't seem to find one anywhere."

"Ha, ha, very funny." She reached into the doughnut case and took out a bear claw, setting it out on the counter for him. Didn't matter what time of day it was; Alex always loved his favorite sweet treat.

"Was that Doug walkin' outta here?" he asked.

"Yes." She pressed her lips together in a tight smile and revealed, "He's gay."

Alex made a face. "Wait, you dated a gay guy?"

"Well, I didn't know he was gay at the time. He didn't know, either, but apparently a couple of dates with me made him gay."

Alex chuckled. "You didn't _make_ him gay. That's not something that just kick-starts in your twenties."

"But something about his date with me made him realize it," she fretted. "Am I that repulsive? Are dates with me that bad?"

"Oh, don't take it personally," he said. "That's not so bad. Try having a girl _ask_ if you're gay during the middle of a date."

"Someone really asked you that?" How mortifying.

"Yeah. Because I wouldn't feel her up."

"Well, that's just because you're a gentlemen." She sighed, still not entirely convinced that she hadn't done something drastically wrong with Doug. There had to be a reason why she couldn't make it work with anyone. She went out on dates all the time, but nothing ever stuck.

"Maybe this is a sign you're supposed to be single for a while," Alex suggested. "Or give it another shot with a guy like Sean."

"Uh, no. I texted him the other day, thinking the same thing, and do you know what his response was?"

"Uh-oh."

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through a half week's worth of text messages to find his. "' _Sorry, can't hook up with you now,_ '" she read. "' _Seeing someone else._ '" As horrible as it was to admit, Sean had always sort of been her backup plan. If Doug and the other more mature guys hadn't worked out, she figured she might as well give Sean another shot and see if he'd changed. But now it was too late for that. She was starting to feel really defeated.

"It's okay," Alex assured her. "Better to be on your own than with the wrong person, don't you think?"

She stared at him intently, wondering if he was hearing himself, or if he was really thinking about the words that were coming out of his mouth. "Alex . . ."

He seemed to know that he was one to talk, because he muttered, "Yeah, I know," and finally bit into his bear claw, as if to avoid talking about it any further.

...

Even after the psychology class was done, Maria couldn't quite wrap her mind around what she'd observed in there. Michael was . . . excited. Not about beer or sex or sports or any of the typical things. He was excited about his education, his future. It was really an incredible sight to see, and as proud as she'd felt of him a few days ago, she felt ten times prouder now.

"So are you impressed?" he knowingly asked as they walked down the sidewalk past the rec center.

"I am," she openly admitted. "I really am."

"Sometimes I feel like a different person," he revealed.

He seemed that way sometimes, too, but other times, like today with the phosphorous mention . . . "Yeah, but you're also still you."

"Just the new and improved version," he said. "Did you know I have a job now, too?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. I work for housing. Not like cleanin' toilets or anything. I'm one of the guys who sits behind the front desk."

"Doing nothing?" she teased.

"Well, yeah, there is a lot of downtime," he acknowledged, dissolving into a chuckle.

"What?" she asked.

"It's just . . . last year was my first year working for housing, so I got the Outstanding New Employee award."

"Shut up. Are you serious?"

"Yeah, so now one of my scholarships actually comes from the housing department."

"Oh my god." It was all just so head-spinning. "What alternate reality are we living in?"

"I don't know, but I like it."

Remembering one other special award he'd won, she couldn't resist teasing, "So which was better, winning Outstanding New Employee or Snowball King?"

"Oh, Snowball King," he answered without a moment's hesitance. "Are you kidding?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, nothing beats Snowball King." He hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulders, and as he did so, the sleeves of his t-shirt moved higher upward. She couldn't help but catch glimpse of his bare bicep . . . where her initials _used_ to be.

"No, the employee award was pretty cool," he went on. "Especially since I got money."

"Yeah," she said distractedly, wondering if she was confused? But she wasn't. It was supposed to be on _this_ arm.

But it wasn't.

Although she wasn't sure if she should say anything about it, curiosity got the best of her, and she quietly asked, "Where's your tattoo?"

Even though there had been absolutely _no_ segue there, he knew what she was talking about right away. "Oh, uh . . ." He slowed his pace and looked down at his bicep, then pulled his sleeve down. "I got it removed a couple summers ago."

For some reason . . . that surprised her. "Oh." But it really shouldn't have. Why would he want to keep _MD_ on his arm when they weren't even together anymore? She pulled her shirt down further over the waistline of her jeans and asked, "Isn't that painful?"

He shrugged. "Hurt a little, but it wasn't bad."

"But isn't it expensive?"

"It was small tattoo, so . . . not really."

"Right." It _had_ been small. Just a really small, really stupid thing that they'd done together.

"Maria . . ."

"Um, I have to go," she told him abruptly, stepping in front of him. "I just remembered that I have to go to the grocery store before I go pick Dylan up today."

"Oh. Okay."

For some reason, she felt it necessary to add, "But I had a good time today." It was nice to be . . . friends with him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"Bye." She gave him a half-wave and turned, suddenly not able to get to the parking lot fast enough.

When she finally got home that night, she went in the bathroom and lifted up the back of her shirt. She had to tug down just slightly on the waistline of her jeans and twist around to see her own tattoo, the familiar _MG_ that resided right there on the lowest part of her back. She remembered how her mom had chastised her for getting that done, because, in her words, it was "very, very permanent."

But apparently it wasn't. At least not for Michael.

 _Should I have gotten this removed?_ she wondered self-consciously. _Should I have gotten it removed a long time ago?_

Just then, the door opened, and in came Max. "Oh, sorry." He apologized.

She quickly but nonchalantly pulled her shirt back down. Obviously Max knew that that tattoo was there, but he didn't need to know she'd been looking at it.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing. I just . . . have a bug bite," she fibbed.

"Where, on your butt?"

"Yeah." She pretended to laugh about it a little, then gave him a kiss on the cheek and slipped out of the bathroom, pulling down on her shirt further as she went.

...

Even though he heard the front door open and close, Kyle didn't want to be disturbed. He lay still on the couch, keeping his eyes closed, hoping to just keep dozing. He heard Michael's heavy footsteps, though, and a few seconds later, he sensed someone towering above him, casting a shadow. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

There indeed was his friend. "I need a favor."

 _Do I look like I'm in any position to offer one?_ Kyle wondered.

Regardless of his desire to just stay right there on that couch, Kyle got up and headed out with Michael. Michael didn't tell him where they were going, but he did take Kyle's portable, foldable wheelchair out of the closet and load it into the trunk of his car. Kyle rode along with him without question, but the closer and closer they got to the school district, the worse feeling he got about what this favor might be. When Michael helped him into his wheelchair and pushed him through the parking lot and down a ramp onto the combined track and football field, his stomach knotted up.

"What're we doin' here?" he grumbled, surveying the scene. A bunch of _really_ little kids were getting suited up for football practice.

"You'll see." Michael pushed his wheelchair up right to the edge of the grass and locked it into place there.

"What is this?" Kyle asked warily, though he had a feeling he already knew.

"This is the Pound Elementary youth football team," Michael explained. "The kindergarten/first grade squad. They have a championship game in two weeks, and I'm coaching 'em now."

That was all good and well, but . . . "Why am I here?"

"I told you, I need a favor." Michael pulled out a whistle from inside his shirt and blew it to get the boys attention. "Hey, guys, I wanna introduce you to someone," he announced. "This is Kyle. He's my best friend."

Self-consciously, Kyle tried not to make eye contact with any single one of them. But he could feel their curious stares as they looked him over in silence. Some of them had probably never seen somebody in a wheelchair before.

At last, a familiar boy chirped, "You played with Micho."

It didn't take long for Kyle to recognize him, or to recognize the way he pronounced Michael's name. That was Maria's son. A little taller, a little older, with a little dirtier blonde hair.

"That's right, Dylan, he did," Michael said. "Kyle's one of the most amazing quarterbacks you'll ever see."

He grunted inwardly. _Not anymore._

"So I was thinkin' maybe he could help us out," Michael went on. "Are you guys down with that?"

More silence. Confused, thoughtful silence, because they were all probably trying to figure out how a handicapped guy could help any of them.

"Yeah!" Dylan exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. He was the only one who seemed to even buy into the possibility, probably just because he recognized him.

Michael turned back to Kyle and said, "They're down."

"I'm not." Besides . . . those kids didn't want this anyway.

"Come on, man," Michael urged. But Kyle just glared at him, determined to take no part in this. He didn't want to coach a bunch of kindergarteners how to play this game. He wanted to play it himself. But that would never happen, not ever again.

Disappointedly, Michael sighed. "Alright, let's line up and run some of the plays we practiced Wednesday," he said to the boys.

They forgot about the weird guy in the wheelchair and started to jabber amongst themselves as they shuffled into formation.

"Hey, focus," Michael reminded them. "And amp it up, alright? I wanna see you guys play with some energy."

 _Energy,_ Kyle thought, shifting his chair out of the locked position. _Something I don't have._ He spun the wheels and turned, rolling off in the direction he had come.

"Set!" he heard Michael yell. "Hike!"

Curiosity got the best of him, and he stopped wheeling away just long enough to look back over his shoulder and watch the play unfold. It was . . . disastrous. The poor kid playing quarterback couldn't find anyone to throw to, and he was too scared to run, so he ended up getting tackled instead. It was just a light tackle, of course, barely more than a touch. But he went down. Good for him, though, getting right back up.

"Okay," Michael said, "Luke, I don't want you to hold onto the ball so long. If you hold onto it that long, the defense is gonna get to you. You either gotta run or get rid of it."

"Get rid of it?" Luke asked.

Kyle remembered what he had thought that meant back when he'd been learning. He'd assumed it was okay to throw it out of bounds, that that wouldn't cost his team a down. His first ever game at quarterback had been a mess because of that misunderstanding.

"Michael," he said, wheeling himself back towards the field. "I'll work with him."

Michael looked surprised that he had reconsidered so quickly, but glad. "Alright," he said. "Listen, guys, Coach Kyle's gonna take the offense and get you guys goin', and I'm gonna work with the defense today. Okay?"

A few of the offensive kids still looked skeptical, but they nodded in understanding anyway.

"Okay," Michael said, "we're gonna teach you a lot."

 _I'm gonna try,_ Kyle thought, hoping he didn't suck at this. Not only was he disabled, but he was also out of practice.

...

Normally, Maria wouldn't have bothered to watch any of Dylan's football practice. It wasn't the most exciting thing in the world, and she didn't want to overcrowd or embarrass him by being there. But she had to admit, she was a bit intrigued to see what it would be like for him with Michael as the coach, so she got there early for once to observe how it was going.

She took a seat on the middle row of the few bleachers that were there, scanning the field for him. She saw Michael first, though—easy to spot since he was so tall and was surrounded by little kids. He was demonstrating how to tackle, and the kids around him were all listening and watching intently. He had more of their focus and attention than the old coach had ever had, even during games.

When she located Dylan, she was more than a little surprised to see him working with . . . who was that? Was that Kyle? She squinted and peered closer, barely able to believe her eyes. It was him. But he looked so different. Heavier and not so clean-shaven. And in a wheelchair. Not at all the same Kyle who used to run out on those fields and score all those touchdowns.

 _Oh my god,_ she thought, her heart going out to him. Sarah hadn't been kidding when she said Kyle wasn't doing better.

"Hey, Maria."

And speaking of . . . there Sarah was. All of a sudden, she popped up right on the side of the bleachers and climbed up to sit next to Maria.

"Sarah, hi," she returned unsurely. Oh god, did it look weird with her being here? Probably not, right? Her intentions were completely innocent; all she wanted to do was make sure Dylan was doing fine working in such close proximity with the guy he'd once thought of as his dad.

"I almost didn't recognize you without your cowgirl costume," Sarah said.

"Yeah, same with you and Athena." Somehow, even dressed in scrubs, though, Sarah still looked amazing. "Did you come from work?" Stupid question. Obviously she had.

"Yeah, I got off early, so I figured I'd swing by and see how Michael's doing as a coach."

Maria looked back out on the field at him. He was congratulating a very chubby boy on a tackle well done. "Looks like he's doing pretty good," she remarked. "Kyle's here today."

"Really?" Sarah eagerly glanced towards the other group of players, and she gasped excitedly when she saw him. "Oh my god, that's great. This is huge," she said. "Tess is gonna be so happy about this."

 _So is he normally like a homebody now?_ Maria wondered. If so, that was really sad.

"Is that Dylan?" Sarah asked.

Maria watched as her son jumped as high as his stubby little legs would let him and caught a ball Kyle threw lightly. "Yeah."

"He's so cute!" Sarah cooed.

"Oh, and he uses that to his advantage."

"I'll bet." Sarah laughed when he threw the ball back to Kyle, and Kyle reached to the right and caught it with one hand. "So cute," she said again. "I think Michael's really excited to get to coach him."

"Well, Dylan's excited to _be_ coached by him," Maria added. "They used to go out in the backyard all the time and just spend hours tossing the football around."

"Did they?"

"Yeah." She remembered sitting out there with them, just watching, worrying that maybe they were getting too attached to each other, yet adoring the fact that they were. "Dylan had no idea how to play until Michael taught him."

"He's a good teacher," Sarah said.

"Yeah." She smiled nervously, thinking back on all the dirty, naughty things Michael had taught _her_ back in the day. But then she realized that he had probably taught Sarah all of those same things by now, and she relaxed.

Sarah watched the kids practice—or more precisely, watched her boyfriend coach—for a few more seconds, then turned directly to Maria and asked, "Hey, so, shot in the dark here, but do you and Dylan wanna come over for dinner this weekend?"

Even though she'd quickly become accustomed to this girl's friendliness, Maria was still a little stunned by the invitation. "Oh, um . . . this—this weekend?" she stammered unsurely.

"Yeah. Oh, and Max is welcome to come, too, if he wants."

"Over to your place. Your and Michael's place."

"Yeah."

Something told her Michael was completely unaware that this conversation was even happening. He never would have been okay with that. "Oh, I don't wanna . . . I don't want you to have to cook some big meal," she said, trying to politely decline.

"No, it's no problem," Sarah insisted. "I love cooking."

Of course she did. Because she was the perfect girlfriend, and perfect girlfriends loved to cook. "Well, Dylan has a sleepover," she said, "so . . ."

"Well, you and Max could still come," Sarah pointed out.

True. They _could_.

"I'm sorry," Sarah apologized suddenly. "I'm being pushy, aren't I?"

"No. It—it's just . . ." She didn't want to say anything that would hurt Sarah's feelings or make it seem like she wasn't grateful for the dinner offer, so she settled for, "Most girls aren't so nice to their boyfriend's ex-girlfriends."

"I have no reason not to be nice to you," Sarah said simply.

 _And that's all she's trying to do,_ Maria reminded herself. _No hidden agenda. She's just a nice, easy-going, mature person._ So maybe it was time for her to be one, too. "Okay, I'll, uh . . . I'll check with Max and let you know," she said. But if Max wasn't going, then she wasn't going, either.

"Sounds good," Sarah chirped, smiling that Miss America smile.

Out on the football field, Michael finally looked up and caught sight of the two of them sitting there. He stopped what he was doing and just stared at them as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing.

Maria just nervously smiled, but Sarah waved. Although he was clearly confused, he waved back.


	24. Chapter 24

That night, Maria lay in bed, mind racing, phone in hand. She was supposed to call Sarah and confirm whether or not she and Max would be able to do this dinner tomorrow night, but even though she and Max had already talked it through, she was reluctant.

"I just don't want you to feel obligated," she said, worried that he had just agreed to it because he thought he had to.

Beside her, Max lay on his side, facing away. "I don't," he said. He'd been very tired tonight, because he'd worked extra hours today. She knew she was probably bothering him by yapping rather than just letting him go to sleep.

"It's not, like, imperative to me to be all chummy with Michael and Sarah," she went on, wanting to be _very_ clear that not one part of this had been her idea.

"I know," he said.

"If you'd rather just keep your distance . . ."

Groaning, he rolled over completely so that he was on his other side now. He extended one arm across her stomach and looked right at her. "Maria."

"What?"

"This isn't all that weird for me," he assured her. "I'm used to having to confront the past. I welcome it at this point."

"Yeah, but . . ." This was different. This wasn't something that rehab could assist him with. This was his history with Michael _and_ her history with Michael, all wrapped up into one.

"I think this Sarah girl's got it figured out," he said. "We're all here in this town; our lives are bound to overlap just like they already are. We might as well get used to each other."

"But I just don't want you to feel like you _have_ to."

"Maria, I've been straight-up with Michael," he said. "I told him I changed and I have no hard feelings towards him. So the ball's pretty much in his court. If he wants, we can put this tension and hostility behind us and be perfectly civil."

She whimpered quietly, mildly distressed by that. Because it just wouldn't happen. Michael had changed a lot in two years, obviously. But even though he was now a star student and an Outstanding Employee and a counselor in-the-making, he still harbored the same intensely negative feelings towards Max that he always had. It was like a fire. No matter how much water you poured on it, no matter how many friendly conversations or dinners you attempted to have, it would never go out. She knew that, but Sarah and Max didn't seem to.

"Just call Sarah," he suggested, rolling back onto his other side now. "Tell her we'll be there."

Sighing, relenting herself to a Saturday evening she'd never seen coming, she brought up the contact list on her phone to find Sarah Nguyen's number and confirm their dinner plans.

...

Making out was great, but sex was a whole lot better; and that was the territory Michael hoped to push it into as he and Sarah lay naked under their covers, kissing, groping. They'd already fooled around together in the shower, but he was more than ready for round two, this time in the bed.

Unfortunately, while he was right in the middle of plunging his tongue into her mouth, her cell phone rang. He slowly, reluctantly stopped what he was doing and gave her enough room to move so she could reach over onto the nightstand and grab her phone.

"It's not your parents again, is it?" he groaned. That would really kill the mood.

"No, it's Maria."

But then again, that killed it, too. " _What_?" he spat, flopping down flat on his back.

"Hello," she answered politely. There was a bit of a pause then, until she exclaimed, "Really? That's great! I'm _so_ glad."

Michael rubbed his forehead, flabbergasted. What the hell was this? What other guy had to deal with his current girlfriend and ex-girlfriend becoming friends with each other? It was so fucked up.

"Okay, so we live on campus in the Vidorra suites," Sarah went on to say. "Do you know where that is?"

Michael cast a horrified glance at her out of the corner of his eye. What the _fuck_? Maria was coming over here now? Hopefully not right now, because . . . he was just in no state for that.

"And we live on the third floor in number 315," Sarah added. "Do you wanna do . . . I don't know, 7:30-ish?"

 _Oh my god,_ Michael thought in astonishment. _She's really inviting her over here._ His crazy girl was really, truly crazy after all.

"Alright, sounds like a plan," Sarah chirped. "See you tomorrow. Bye." She ended the call and put her phone back on the nightstand. When she looked back at Michael, she must have known she had some explaining to do, because right away, she said, "Okay, don't freak out."

"What're you doing?" he demanded. "She's comin' over here?"

"Yes, tomorrow night," Sarah confirmed. "For dinner."

He grunted incredulously. "Are—are you serious?"

"Yes." Gulping, she added, "So is Max."

" _What_?" he shrieked, digging his hands into his hair. "Are you kidding me?"

"I'm just trying to be friendly and open-minded," she said. "Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad," he said. "I just . . . I can't get on the same wavelength as you about this."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, moving in closer, curling up against his side. "I should've asked you first."

It really didn't matter; he would have given in and agreed to it just because it was what she wanted. But maybe he wouldn't have been so caught off guard like this.

"Sorry," she said again, and suddenly, he felt her hand slip beneath the covers and start to . . . sort of massage a very specific part of him, stroking his length.

"What're you doing?" he asked her.

"This is the only thing I can do to make sure you're not mad at me," she whimpered.

 _Adorable,_ he thought, but it wasn't true. He didn't require sexual favors to keep from fighting with her about this. As much as he was already dreading this dinner tomorrow night, it wasn't exactly the end of the world; and he knew her heart had been in a good place when she'd initiated it.

"Come here," he said, rolling onto his side again so he could sweep her into his arms and resume kissing her the way she deserved.

...

Isabel awoke, feeling instantly as if she hadn't gotten enough sleep. When she tried to stir, she felt a soreness between her legs, and when she looked down under the covers, she knew why. There were bruises on the inside of her thighs, a clear indicator of an especially rough pounding.

"Good morning," Jesse said. He was sitting over at his computer with only a sheet wrapped around his waist. He had a cup of coffee in his hand and was already hard at work, editing some new film.

"Hey," she said, struggling to sit up. Her head was throbbing, and she felt hungover.

"Do you remember anything about last night?" he asked.

"No." She rubbed her head, hoping some pain relievers would dull this ache. "Was I drunk?"

"Oh, yeah," he answered emphatically. "We all were."

Dragging her fingers through her hair, she asked, "What'd we do?"

"Fucked a _lot_ ," he replied. "Courtney got sick, though, so eventually it was just me and Eric and you."

Well, that explained why she felt so sore then. They'd probably double penetrated her. It wasn't a big deal, because they'd done it before, but still . . . it hurt. "I should study today," she mumbled, knowing Jesse would be glued to that computer screen. When Eric woke up, he would be, too. Once they had a new movie in the works, it was all they could think about.

"Just take it easy," Jesse urged. "Get some rest."

"No, I need to study," she insisted. "I'm painfully average in all my classes."

"Oh, Isabel . . ." He smiled at her. "You couldn't be average if you tried."

That was nice to hear, but it wasn't true. She could certainly be average. She had been before.

...

" _Miss Evans . . ."_

 _Isabel continued to breathe calmly, evenly, determined not to show any outward signs of nervousness. This was the third time she'd met with the disciplinary committee now about the 'Professor Conahey incident.' That was what they kept calling it._

 _The chair of the disciplinary committee cleared his throat and said, "Miss Evans, by all accounts, you've been an average student during your short time here at Princeton. Average grades, average class attendance. Yet your grade in Professor Conahey's class is remarkably high. Do you care to explain that?"_

 _She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess he thought that if he gave me better grades in class, I'd be more likely to keep quiet about what he was doing to me."_

 _The chairman stared at her skeptically, as did the rest of the members of the committee. No one seemed to be buying her story anymore._

" _This isn't some academic conspiracy," she insisted. "Scott was the aggressor here, not me."_

" _Scott," the chair echoed. "You're on a first-name basis."_

Well, I had to have something to scream out when I was cumming, _she thought. "He told me to call him that," she lied easily. "He told me to do all sorts of things."_

" _And why didn't you report it?" one of only two females on the committee questioned. "You said you knew what was going on was wrong. Why not tell someone?"_

" _Because I—I was scared," she stammered._

" _Did he threaten you?"_

" _No, but . . ."_

" _Then why were you scared?"_

 _She sighed shakily, well aware that she_ was _showing outward signs of nervousness now. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be going. It was bad enough that rumors about her were already running rampant around campus, rumors that were partially if not completely true. She didn't need this disciplinary committee honing in on her any further. "Look, I'm the victim here," she kept arguing. "I don't know what Professor Conahey is telling you, but-"_

" _He told us you seduced him," the female member broke in._

" _I didn't!"_

" _His testimony is very convincing, Miss Evans. We also have witnesses who substantiate the claim that you were an active and willing participant in this affair. Co-workers, students in the class who claim to have seen you flirting with him."_

 _She huffed, pretending to be outraged when, in reality, she was terrified. "He's older than me and in a position of power at this university. I didn't know how to react; I just played along so he wouldn't hurt me."_

" _We have video footage of the two of you in his vehicle in the parking garage," the chairman informed her. "You didn't look hurt or scared or panicked or any of these things you claim to have been."_

" _This is ridiculous," she fought back. "He's the one who should be punished here, not me."_

" _Unfortunately, Miss Evans, the evidence we've accumulated is insurmountable," the chairman said. "Professor Conahey will be charged and indicted by our own academic disciplinary committee, and he will be removed from his teaching position here in perpetuity. But we must also hand down punishment to a student who clearly found it more advantageous to initiate an inappropriate sexual relationship with her professor than to study and progress according to the same standards as our other students."_

" _So what're you gonna do?" she challenged. "Expel me?"_

" _Miss Evans, you leave me no choice." The chairman cleared his throat and announced, "Isabel Evans is hereby expelled from the University of Princeton for the remainder of the academic year, with probationary and academic restrictions placed on any potential enrollment next fall."_

" _No, you can't do this!" she cried. "This isn't fair. This is my dream school."_

" _Then perhaps," the chairman advised snidely, "you should have taken your time here more seriously."_

 _She felt the tears start to roll down her cheeks, and she was actually embarrassed to be crying in front of them. Because not one of them felt the least bit sorry for her._

...

Isabel dazedly watched miniature versions of herself, Jesse, and Eric fucking in a mass on a little video window on Jesse's computer screen. Eric was taking the non-traditional entrance this time, which didn't exactly thrill her, because she preferred for that to be Jesse. But there was nothing she could do about it now.

This was her life.

Groaning, head still throbbing, she fell back down on the bed and pulled the covers up over her head.

...

The apartments Michael and Sarah lived in were split up into two buildings: the north complex, and the south complex. The north one was the main one, and outside of it was a big stone sign that said _Vidorra_ in fancy lettering, and beneath that it read, _The Good Life_. It definitely _looked_ like the good life on the outside. It was a nice place and looked to be one of the newer housing buildings on campus.

Maria took her plate of chocolate chip cookies off the dashboard of the car and shut the passenger's side door with her hip. "Do you think she'll be able to tell these are store-bought?" she asked Max.

"Maybe," he said, pressing the lock button twice on his key fob to lock all doors of the vehicle. "Does it really matter?"

"I guess not," she said, pulling the plastic wrap covering them up tighter around the sides of the plate. "Apparently she's an amazing cook."

"Well, then, tonight we'll have an amazing meal," he proclaimed, giving her side a quick squeeze as they headed inside.

Maria's heart was pounding by the time they got to apartment 315 and knocked on the door. It suddenly dawned on her that she was about to walk into Michael's whole world. This would be different than seeing him in class or at Dylan's school. This was where he _lived_.

Sarah was the one to open the door. She had an oven mitt on one hand and an apron tied around her neck and waist. "Hi!" she exclaimed, a big smile on her face. Immediately, she tried to give Maria a hug, but the cookie plate was in between them.

"Oh, sorry," Maria said, holding it off to the side.

"Hi," Sarah said again, getting the hug in this time. "Thanks for coming, guys. Come on in." She stepped aside and held the door open, and Maria slipped inside, Max following her.

It was . . . nice. Small, but cozy. It was pretty much a studio apartment, with the only wall being the dividing one between the kitchen and the living room. There was a window in it, though, that allowed Maria to see back to the bed, which was perfectly made and had pillows perfectly arranged on it.

"Wow," Maria said, looking around, surveying the space. Everything was clean; everything was in its right place. Maybe they'd just cleaned up since they had company coming over, but more likely than not, it always looked like this. In addition to being a great cook, Sarah was probably just a great housewife-type in general.

"Welcome, welcome," Sarah said. "Sorry, it's not exactly a huge space."

"No, it's nice," Maria told her. "Oh, uh . . . these are for you." She handed over the cookies.

"Aw, thanks," Sarah said. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"Oh, it's the least I could do."

"Well, thank you," Sarah reiterated, peeling back the plastic wrap to get a whiff. "Mmm, they smell good," she remarked. "Did you make these?"

Oh, if only. She had some talents, but cooking wasn't one of them. "Yes," she lied. "Yes, I did."

Max gave her a playful nudge, but Sarah didn't see it, as she was already putting the cookies on the counter. "Well, those will be perfect for dessert," she said.

Maria glanced at Max questioningly and pointed down to their shoes. Were they supposed to take them off? Was this that kind of place? Shrugging, he slipped his off, so she did the same.

"So where's Michael?" Max asked.

"Oh, he's outside grilling," Sarah explained. "There's this grill between the north and south buildings, so he's got a couple steaks on there right now."

"Oh, great, that's my favorite food," Max said.

"Is it? Good. Michael really likes it, too."

"Huh. Something we have in common then."

Maria smiled, happy to hear him having a positive attitude. He would need it in face of Michael's inevitable negative one.

"So what are you making?" Max asked as he sauntered further into the kitchen. "It smells delicious."

"Oh, these are just some roasted vegetables," she said, giving him a peek inside a huge stovetop pot. "Sweet potatoes, green beans, peppers, tomatoes."

"Smells great," Max said again.

It _did_ smell good. Maria wandered into the living room, trying to peek at whatever little animal was curled up on the couch.

"We are gonna have a full-on steak dinner," Sarah proclaimed. "Now Michael really likes this sauce I make—it's called weeping tiger dressing. But it's Asian-inspired and really has a kick to it, so we've got plenty of other sauces to choose from."

"I'm not picky," Max said.

 _How cute,_ Maria thought when she got closer to the animal on the couch. It was a little dog. He looked very nervous to have people in his house who he didn't know.

"And we weren't sure how you guys take your steak, so Michael's making just shooting for medium-well. Is that alright?"

"Sounds good to me," Max said. "That alright with you, Maria?"

She looked up from the dog and said. "Oh, uh, yeah." She wasn't picky, either.

"Is Shango over there?" Sarah said.

Immediately, the dog's ears pricked up, and he jumped down off the couch, scampering into the kitchen towards Sarah. He was a little Corgi. Totally not a tough guy kind of dog.

"What's his name?" Maria asked.

"Shango," Sarah repeated. "Michael named him. Something about Shanghai and thinking it was in South Korea." She rolled her eyes. "That's where my family's from."

"Which one, Shanghai or South Korea?" Max asked.

"South Korea."

 _No wonder she's so pretty,_ Maria thought. _She's exotic._

"Shango, go say hi to Maria," she urged as he pawed at her legs. "Go say hi. He's a little shy."

"Shango, come here," Maria said, bending down, giving her legs a few pats to coax him over. Sarah gave him a little nudge with her foot, and eventually, he slinked on over to her. She reached out slowly, and he backed away a few steps at first, but eventually, he came in closer, sniffed her hand a bit, and let her pet him.

"Is he a puppy?" Max asked.

"Yeah, we just got him back in September," Sarah said. "We're not technically supposed to have dogs here, but Michael was able to pull a few strings. He loves this dog."

"Can I pick him up?" Maria asked. She didn't want to spook the little guy.

"Sure," Sarah replied. "He's very friendly."

 _Sort of like you,_ she thought, lifting Shango into her arms. He started licking her cheek right away. He was a warm, adorable, cuddly little thing.

Sarah and Max started talking about food once again, and Maria continued petting Shango and looking around, getting a feel for where Michael lived. It was so different from that bedroom they'd spent countless hours in together. So much more . . . adult. That was probably mostly due to Sarah's influence, but still . . .

On the end table next to the couch was a picture of Michael and Sarah, looked like it was taken during some vacation at a beach. He was standing behind her with his arms around her waist, both of them smiling at the camera.

This didn't even just seem like the good life. It was a step beyond that.

...

 _I'm the man,_ Michael thought, using tongs to flip over each piece of steak on the grill. Sarah might have been preparing everything else, but when it came to grilling, he was the master. He knew exactly when to take them off the heat, and he knew exactly how to maneuver them so that the juices stayed in.

"Steak dinner, huh?" he heard his boss Brody remark as he came out of the north building.

"Yep." Michael closed the lid, estimating that he had about eight minutes longer before they were done.

"What's the occasion?" Brody asked.

"Sarah and I are having 'friends' over." He happily used air quotes for that, because Max sure as hell wasn't a friend, and Maria . . . well, she was Maria.

"They must be _her_ friends," Brody concluded.

Michael laughed, wishing it were that simple. "One of them is my ex-girlfriend," he explained.

"What?" Brody's eyes bulged. "Why the hell is your ex-girlfriend over for dinner?"

"I don't know!" Finally, someone else who was as befuddled by this as he was. "And it gets better. Get this: The other 'friend' who's comin' over tonight . . . is her ex-boyfriend."

"Sarah's ex-boyfriend?"

"No, my ex-girlfriend's ex-boyfriend. Well . . ." He made a face. "Technically he's her boyfriend again. And the father of her son. She has a son. I forgot to mention that."

"Your son?" Brody asked.

"No. I mean, he _was_ at one time. Not biologically or anything, but . . ."

"Okay, I'm confused," Brody admitted. "I lost track."

"Yeah, the whole thing's pretty convoluted," he acknowledged. "Suffice to say, these steaks are gonna be the only good part of tonight's dinner."

Brody chuckled and gave him an encouraging pat on the back. "Good luck then."

"Yeah, thanks." He opened the lid of the grill to take another peek and survey his works of art. Oh, yeah. Five or six more minutes, and then they were done.

When he was satisfied, Michael took each steak off the grill, noticing that one was a little too well-done. Oh, well. That could be Max's.

Their apartment had already been invaded by the time he got back up there. It felt so fucking weird to walk in there and see Max and Maria, but there they were, just sitting on his couch, playing with his—playing with his _dog_? Oh, not cool.

"Shango," he said, and immediately, Shango jumped off their laps and ran towards him.

"Mmm, those smell great," Sarah said, turning off the stove. "Perfect timing. I'm ready with everything, too."

Michael set the steaks down on the table, noticing that she'd made that weeping tiger sauce. His favorite. "Thanks, baby," he said, giving her a quick—but noticeable—kiss on the cheek.

The conversation at the dinner table started out slow, but it was simple enough. Sarah did most of the talking, thankfully. She asked Maria how she was enjoying being a student at the university, and about what she was studying. Maria replied that she was studying music but wasn't quite sure what career she wanted to pursue with it. Songwriting was an option, but so was teaching.

"And what about you, Max?" Sarah asked. "Are you taking any classes?"

"No, I work full-time," he answered.

"Doing what?"

"Construction."

"Really?" Michael shot Maria a hard glance. And here she used to be so concerned that that was the kind of job he'd end up doing.

"He also paints houses," she said. "He's very busy and hardworking. And good at his job."

Max shrugged modestly—since when the hell was Max Evans modest? "I try."

"So what happened to bein' a lawyer?" Michael asked challengingly. "I thought that was the plan."

Sarah gave him a little kick under the table, and he knew he couldn't push this too far.

"Well, I set that aside to focus on other things," Max responded evenly.

"Like rehab?"

Sarah kicked him harder.

"Well . . . yes, at first," Max admitted calmly. "But then Maria and I got back together, and I wanted to be able to provide for my family." He reached over and touched her shoulder, and she smiled at him.

"And he has," she said proudly.

 _Oh, I think I'm gonna puke,_ Michael thought, barely able to swallow the bite of steak that was in his mouth.

"So what made you decide you wanted to be a counselor?" Max asked him, turning, the tables, but not in a hostile way. "That's a pretty courageous career choice."

"Well, I like helping people," Michael said, quickly thinking through a pointed response. "Kids, especially. You know, sometimes they find themselves in bad situations, even if it's not their fault. _Dangerous_ situations, and they just need someone to save them. To rescue them from harm. You know what I mean?"

Max locked eyes with him for a minute, then looked down at his plate, clearly understanding that that whole thing was directed right at him.

As usual, though, Sarah could be counted upon to diffuse the tension. "Well, I think I'm gonna have the most boring job out of all of us," she piped up.

"What do you study?" Maria asked.

"Biochemistry."

Michael smirked. Yeah, his girl was fucking smart. Not that Maria wasn't. But Max was an idiot.

"I have no idea what that even is," Maria admitted.

"It's basically just a major for me to pursue before I go to pharmacy school," Sarah explained.

"Wow, you're gonna be a pharmacist?" Maria sounded impressed. "You'll make more money than all of us combined."

"Yeah, but I'll be paying off student loans longer than all of you, too," Sarah pointed out.

"She's being modest," Michael said, reaching over to put his arm around her. "She's got scholarships on top of scholarships. On top of scholarships. I still got a higher GPA, though."

Sarah picked up one of her potatoes and threw it at him. It bounced right off his chest and landed on the floor, and Shango eagerly gobbled it up.

"Well, you guys are obviously both doing really well," Maria summarized. "And don't worry, Sarah, we have a Music Appreciation test on Tuesday, and he's _so_ not ready for it. So I'm sure your GPA will be higher in no time."

"Oh!" She laughed and pointed a finger at him. "Burn!"

"I'm ready for it," he lied, making a mental note to attempt to study some more tomorrow.

"Nice one, Maria," Sarah complimented.

"Thanks."

 _Shit, they really_ are _getting along well,_ Michael noticed. _Damn._ That meant there would probably be more dinners like this in the future.

...

The chocolate chip cookies weren't as tasty as Maria had hoped they would be. Instead of being soft and gooey, they were hard and crunchy. Luckily, Sarah had made chocolate marble cheesecake for dessert. And that, of course, was delicious.

Maria was definitely ready to go after dessert. The dinner had been passable after Michael got his little jabs at Max out of the way, but that still didn't mean she was wanting to hang around all night. Max clearly wanted to stay a little longer, though. After dessert, he started asking her for some cooking advice, because his construction company had some chili competition coming up, and he wanted to win. Unsurprisingly, Sarah had the perfect recipe, and she wrote it all down for him, explaining each step in detail.

While the two of them conversed, Michael and Maria mostly ignored each other. He flopped down on the couch with Shango and started playing with him, and Maria tried to keep herself preoccupied by looking around some more. She found herself over at the computer desk, where the screensaver on the laptop was, once again, a picture of him and Sarah. Not just one, as it turned out. A whole slideshow of selfies Sarah seemed to have taken of the two of them. In some of them, he was kissing her cheek, and in others, she was kissing his. And there were some goofy ones, too, and ones of them out and about at football games and parties.

Watching that slideshow, Maria wondered if she should start taking more pictures of herself and Max. She just wasn't a big selfie person. But it _was_ a nice way to preserve all the memories.

Beside the computer was a small framed photo of Sarah and her family—two beautiful, smiling parents and a little brother. And behind that was photo of Michael, his mother, and his sister, taken at Christmas. As harsh as it was, they looked a lot happier without Andy there.

Maria picked up the photo and looked at the familiar faces there, faces that had welcomed her into their home, into their family, into their lives. It had been so long since she'd seen either Krista or Tina, but she'd thought about them a lot over the years.

"I miss them," she said, barely even aware that words were coming out of her mouth.

Michael must have heard her, because she heard him tell Shango to get down, and moments later, he was up off the couch and standing next to her. "That was last Christmas," he said.

Then it was no wonder that Tina looked so different. Krista pretty much looked the same as she had two and a half years ago, but Tina looked older, more like a high school girl than a middle school one now. "I miss your mom a lot," she said, getting a little worked up just by seeing that smiling face in the photo. "She was like a mom to me, too." A relationship with her had always come so much more naturally than a relationship with her actual mother did.

"I'm worried about her right now," Michael confessed quietly.

"Why?" she asked, casting a quick glance back at Max and Sarah. Still talking.

" 'cause of Tina," he replied. "She's really stressed out."

Maria sighed, staring down at the face of a little girl who wasn't so little anymore. "I still can't believe it," she whispered, feeling that familiar sense of guilt, convinced that she had to be at least partly responsible for this.

"It's pretty surreal," Michael agreed. "My mom and I want her to give it up for adoption, but she doesn't wanna do that."

"It's a hard decision." She set the photo back down, remembering how she herself had agonized about it once. Adoption _had_ been the plan . . . until Max had convinced her otherwise.

"Yeah, but she's just . . . she's in denial," he said. "She thinks it's all just gonna work out."

"Well, of course she does." She was fourteen, naïve, clueless. And because of that, she was still hopeful for the future. Girls her age were much more inclined to envision a fairytale than a nightmare.

"But she won't listen to us," he mumbled frustratedly.

Maria didn't want to dash any hopes that he may have had, but Tina _wasn't_ going to listen to them. She recognized this kind of behavior, because it had been her behavior once. It was stubborn and infuriating, but hopefully she would learn from it.

Michael locked eyes with her for a moment, gazing at her intently. "Hey, I've got an idea," he proclaimed suddenly.

 _Oh god._ She could practically see the wheels of his mind turning, and she knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

"You could talk to her."

And there it was. She shifted her weight nervously, having been afraid that he would ask her to do that.

"Yeah, you could tell her about how hard it is," he went on eagerly, as if this epiphany were now the best idea in the history of anyone's ideas. "Maybe hearing it from you would be different than hearing it from me."

"I don't know . . ." she groaned reluctantly.

"No, come on," he pressed. "You're the perfect person to talk some sense into her. Everything she's going through . . . you've lived it."

"But that doesn't mean . . ." She trailed off, feeling like she was stuck in between a rock and a hard place. Either she got involved and potentially did more harm than good, or she stayed out of it and looked like a total bitch.

"She'll listen to you," he insisted.

"No, she won't. Look, the last time Tina and I spoke, she wasn't exactly happy with me." Maria still regretted that they had ended things on such bad terms, but Tina had just been _so_ upset with her decision to leave town, to leave Michael.

"Maria, please," he begged.

Oh . . . she wanted to help, and she wished there was something she could do. But she couldn't help but feel like it wasn't her place to do anything. "I don't think I should get involved," she said. Her and Michael's lives were already overlapping enough as it was; she didn't need to add a family reunion to the mix. "I'm sorry, I just think it's more of a family matter." And she wasn't part of that family anymore.

His head drooped in defeat, and he nodded dejectedly.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"It's fine," he dismissed, sulking back over to the couch. He flopped back down again, and Shango immediately hopped right back up onto his chest to play, but Michael was noticeably less enthused about it now.

Maria looked back into the kitchen, grateful to see that Max was done getting this vitally important chili recipe, and now he was thanking Sarah for the lovely dinner.

 _Thank God,_ she thought. The night was over.


	25. Chapter 25

From the moment Tess got up, she felt sick. She spent the wee hours of the morning in the bathroom, then trudged out into the living room, shocked to see that Kyle was awake. And the TV was off. For once, the remote wasn't even in his hand. He had the laptop out, and his eyes were transfixed to the screen. Her first thought was to assume porn, but she didn't hear any moaning and groaning.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

He didn't answer, so she had to get closer to look down at the screen. He was on that Custom Ink site, and he was designing a t-shirt for . . . the Bulldogs? Who were the Bulldogs?

"What's that for?" she asked.

"The team," he answered vaguely.

Even though she was tired, her brain was still functioning well enough to piece it together. The Bulldogs were the youth football team at Pound, the one he had helped out with on Friday. He hadn't said much about it, but Michael and Sarah had both told her that it had gone well.

"Don't they have jerseys?" she asked.

"Yeah, these are just for the kids to wear . . . whenever," he explained. "Parents, too." He changed the font of _Bulldogs_ to something that looked a little more ferocious. And then he started looking through mascot logos to find the perfect bulldog picture. It was definitely going to look good when it was done.

"I like it," she said, but really, she didn't care about the shirt. It was the fact that Kyle was _designing_ the shirt that was notable. He was still sitting on that couch, but at least he was actually _doing_ something, being productive for a change.

He wasn't saying much, but there was a little twinkle in his eye, a change in his posture. It was like he was excited about this shirt, or at least about this team. And if he was excited about something, then she was excited, too.

...

 _Look at the rack on her,_ Michael thought as he flipped through the latest issue of _Playboy_ magazine. _Damn._ He wasn't quite as much of a boob guy as he was an ass man, but regardless, he could appreciate two good bazookas when he saw them.

He was the only one on front desk duty at Haymsworth Hall, and it was turning out to be a boring day. But that wasn't all bad. If there was no activity, then he had plenty of time to look through his magazine. He'd brought along a couple of old issues, too, just to see if he could make it through the articles this time without becoming . . . distracted.

Someone came up to the front desk, casting a small shadow over the Playmate of the Month, and he didn't even glance up, assuming it was just another dumb freshman. "We don't give out condoms," he said, eyes glued to the page. "Just stamps."

"Ew."

He looked up, surprised to see Tess standing there. "What're you doin' here?" he asked her.

"Are you looking at _Playboy_?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

"No, as long as Isabel's not the centerfold."

"No, it's . . ." He found the lovely young lady's name. "Anya Neeze." His mouth gaped the moment he heard how dirty that sounded. " _Anya Neeze?_ Are you kidding? That's fuckin' perfect!"

"Let me see." She leaned over the counter and got a look at the unbelievable name. "Hmm. See, this is why parents need to think twice when naming their kids."

"I was almost Richard," he informed her.

"Richard?" She made a face of disgust.

"Yeah, but that would've been fine, 'cause then people could've called me Dick."

"Oh, Michael . . . people still called you that," she assured him, "just not to your face."

He laughed lightly, closing his magazine. "What're you doin' here?" he asked again.

"Oh, just . . . thought I'd stop by," she said, attempting to sound casual, but in reality, it came off as anything but. "I swung by the apartment first, but Sarah told me you'd be here all afternoon."

"Yep." For the life of him, he couldn't understand why she was wanting to spend any time with him. Tess was his friend and all, but they didn't hang out one-on-one. Either Kyle or Sarah was always with them. "What's up?" he prodded, getting the sense that there was a very specific reason for her visit.

"Well . . . I need to talk to you." She looked in both directions, then suddenly hoisted herself up on top the counter.

"Oh, wow." He'd never seen anyone attempt this before. She looked like a beached whale. A very tiny beached whale, of course.

"Michael!" she whined, kicking her legs, flailing her arms.

"What're you doin'?"

"Help me!"

"Uh . . . okay." He grabbed her arms and pulled her over with ease. "There you go."

"Thanks," she said, pulling up a chair next to him.

"You know, there's a door," he pointed out as she sat down.

"Shut up." She whacked him on the arm playfully and took a minute to fix her hair. She wasn't technically supposed to be back there, but he figured it was no big deal. Clearly she was desperate for company.

"So . . ." he said leadingly. This was weird. Something was up, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"So . . . I was just wondering if Kyle had said anything to you about the next football practice."

He made a face, not sure where she was going with this. "Not much," he answered. "Just that he'd be at the next one."

"Good," she said. "That's good, don't you think?"

"It is good." He wasn't delusional enough to think that this pee-wee football team was going to fix all of his friend's problems, but at least it was getting him interested in something again.

"You know what he was doing this morning?" she said.

"What?" Hopefully not diagraming any football plays. These boys could barely handle the whole whopping _three plays_ they'd worked on Friday.

"He was designing a t-shirt," she informed him. "A Bulldogs t-shirt. Did you ask him to do that?"

"No." Now that he thought of it, though, that was a good idea. "Huh."

"Yeah." There was a sparkle in her eyes for a moment, like she was feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time. "I think he's really getting into it."

"That's great." That had been the goal.

"I wish you guys had more than two games."

"Yeah, I know." Maybe if he'd been the one to coach this right from the start, then he could have gotten Kyle involved with it back in September.

"It's still good, though," she said. "It's really good."

He kept waiting for her to say more, because somehow, he doubted that she'd come all the way to campus just to have _this_ conversation.

She exhaled heavily, looking down at her lap, and he just sat there and waited it out, figuring she'd say whatever was on her mind at one point or another. Until then . . . he reached for his magazine again, but just as he was about to open it, she blurted something out that shocked the hell out of him.

"I'm pregnant."

He froze, trying to figure out if he'd heard her right. _Pregnant, pregnant . . ._ What rhymed with pregnant? Maybe . . . stagnant? She was stagnant?

"Michael?"

He set the magazine back down, slowly turning to face her. "You're . . ." Looking down at her stomach, he couldn't help but think that she still _looked_ small, her normal size. Not at all like she had a bun in the oven.

"I'm pregnant," she said again, and this time, he noticed the tears in her eyes.

 _Holy shit,_ he thought, trying to process it. Tess had a kid in there. He was going to be Uncle Michael. "Oh my god, congratulations," he said, snapping himself out of his stupor long enough to hug her.

"Thanks," she said, but he could feel tears against the side of his neck.

He pulled back, staring at her with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, wiping off her cheeks. "It's just . . . I'm emotional."

"Right." Steve had told him horror stories about pregnancy hormones. Luckily for him, Cheryl was scheduled to pop this week.

" _Wow_ ," he said, still taking it all in. "How did you . . ." The more he thought about it, the more confused he became. "I mean, can Kyle . . ." There was really no good way to phrase what he was trying to ask.

Thankfully, she just understood. "He's not completely paralyzed," she reminded him. "He can still . . ." Instead of saying it, she jerked her hand upward dramatically.

"Right. I didn't even know you guys had sex, though."

"Well, it doesn't happen very often," she admitted, "which is why I kinda . . . got sporadic with my birth control pill. That was obviously a big mistake."

"A mistake?" he echoed, confused. As far as he knew, Tess had drawn up a list of baby names after her second date with Kyle. She'd been thinking about this for a while.

"I mean . . . I don't mean it like that," she corrected. "It's just . . . I'm scared."

"Why?" he asked. Wasn't this ultimately what she wanted?

"I just didn't think this was gonna happen," she fretted as a few more tears fell. "Or I thought, when it did, I'd be ready for it."

"You're not ready?"

"I don't—I don't know," she stuttered, crying a little harder now. "I'm twenty years old; I'm a part-time cheer coach. My fiancé has been my fiancé for over two years. He spends most of his time on the couch, and I spend most of my time being mad at him. We're broke, we're distant, we're-"

"Meant to be together," he cut in. Despite how tough things had become for them in recent years, he still remembered the Tess and Kyle from high school, the golden couple.

"But we're not . . . happy," she whimpered, shaking her head. "We're not happy, Michael."

He frowned, starting to understand why this was more serious than he'd thought. Sure, Tess had wanted a baby with Kyle back when he'd still been . . . _him._ But nowadays, now that he was this shell of himself, she didn't necessarily want that anymore.

"Does he know?" Michael asked.

She sniffed back tears, wiping her nose with her hand. "No. And you can't tell him."

He groaned, knowing that would be hard.

"Michael, promise," she pleaded.

"I promise." He didn't exactly like keeping secrets from the guy he thought of as a brother, but this wasn't his news to tell. "Who else knows?"

"Just you and Sarah."

"Sarah?" he echoed. "She didn't say anything."

"Because I asked her not to. But last week after yoga, I told her I thought I might be, so she went with me and got the test."

"Huh." She hadn't let on at all. As tight-lipped as she had been, that was how tight-lipped he was going to have to be around Kyle now.

"I'm glad you know, though," she said.

"Yeah." He was glad, too. "Why'd you tell me?"

"Because you're my friend," she replied simply. "And you're Kyle's friend. And maybe you could do a little digging and figure out if it's a good time for me to tell him."

"Wait, what?" That sounded like something that required subtlety, and he didn't have any of that.

"Just figure out when he's in the right headspace for me to tell him," she said. "I don't wanna upset him."

"You think he'll be upset?" For some reason, he'd pictured Kyle being happy about this. He'd pictured a renewed sense of purpose for him, a new mission in life. Once upon a time, it had been about being a great football player; now maybe it could be about being a great father.

"I don't know how he'll feel," Tess admitted. "I don't even know how I feel."

"You're nervous," he said, "but that's alright. It'll be fine."

She blinked back tears and nodded, not completely convincing in her agreement, but it was better than nothing.

"Come here," he said, putting his arm around her, hugging her to his side. He wasn't about to admit it, but now he felt a little nervous, too. This coaching gig he'd given Kyle suddenly had higher stakes attached to it. At this point, it couldn't _just_ help him out; it had to get him back on track.

...

"Alright, here's your backpack," Maria said, handing Dylan a bag that was practically as big as he was. He loved it, though, because it was shaped like Buzz Lightyear. Anything Buzz or dinosaurs or cars, he was all over it.

"Thanks," he said, swinging it onto his shoulders like a little pro. "Bye, Mom!" he chirped, scampering away from the car.

"Bye." She watched him go, getting all nostalgic for the early days of kindergarten when he'd let her hold his hand and walk him inside. "Have a good day!"

He had already caught up to a group of friends, and together, they jabbered as they headed inside the school building.

 _He's not a little boy anymore,_ she thought, wondering what it would be like next year. There would probably come a day when he was so eager to see his friends that he just forgot to say bye to her altogether. That day was going to suck.

She looked to her right, where another mom was dropping her little boy off for the day. He was even smaller than Dylan, maybe in preschool. But the mom was clearly older. Not _old_ by any means, but older than Maria herself was. Most every other mom had a good five or six years on her at the very _least_. Sometimes she wondered if they saw her and thought she might be Dylan's older sister or something.

 _Nobody probably even cares,_ she reminded herself, giving a quick, friendly little smile to the other mom as her little boy walked off on his own, too.

"They grow up so fast," the other mom said.

"Yeah," Maria agreed.

"Have a good day."

"You, too." She walked back around to the driver's side and got back in the car, twisting the key in the ignition. She didn't drive off, though, because something was eating away at her. Seeing all these children and all these moms, it made her think about somebody else who was going to be a mom, somebody who was going to be an even younger mom than her.

God, she hated to think of all the hardships Tina was going to have to go through. She hated the judgment and the struggle and the tears she was going to have to deal with. And what made it all even worse was that Tina was a smart girl. Before this, she'd been a honor roll student, never turned in a late assignment. She'd always been fixated on being popular, but when had that crossed the line into being reckless?

Maria raked one hand through her hair, agonizing over her own feeling of guilt and sympathy. There was so much she wanted to say to Tina, so much she _could_ say. But she really did believe it was a family matter, so what if it wasn't her right to get involved?

She sighed heavily. Then again . . . Michael had asked her. So maybe if she did, it would just be . . . a favor. And maybe some good would come of it.

 _Oh, please don't let me regret this,_ she thought, driving away from the curb. She was supposed to head to campus for a morning class, and then she had a list of errands to fill up the rest of her day. But they could wait.

She drove in the opposite direction of campus, only taking out her cell phone when she was stopped at a red light. She pressed the speed dial number for Max and waited for him to pick up. It took a while, which meant he was busy at work today.

"Hey," he finally answered.

"Hey." The light turned green, and she and the other cars slowly rolled forward, only to be stopped at another red light on the next block. "I was wondering if you could pick up Dylan today," she said.

"Sure," he said. "Why?"

She wet her lips, reluctant to tell him the truth about what she intended to do today. But she had to tell him something. "I think I'm gonna head up to Roswell today," she said. "My mom called and mentioned something about having a lot of work to do at her store, so I figured she could use some help." She cringed, thinking that this was the worst excuse in the history of excuses, due to the fact that she never voluntarily spent time with her mom.

"Well, that's nice of you," Max said. "But are you sure you want to?"

"Yeah. You know, we haven't really talked since Halloween, and she wasn't too happy with me, so maybe this'll give us the chance to clear the air."

"Right," Max said. "Well, have fun."

"Thanks." Fun? No, this wasn't going to be fun. Even if she really _was_ going to spend the day with her mom, fun would not be a possibility. "I'll see you later then, probably not until sometime this evening."

"Alright," he said. "Bye. Love you."

 _Oh, I should've told the truth,_ she thought, but it was too late for that now. "Love you, too." She ended the call and set her phone down in the passenger's seat, driving forward once she had another green light. One she got past that one, it was open highway. Now she had an hour-long drive through deserts and small towns ahead of her.

...

"I can't believe you kept it a secret from me," Michael said as he and Sarah strolled past the fountain outside the Student Union.

"It really wasn't that hard," she said as she labored under the weight of her heavy backpack. "Tess asked me not to say anything, so I didn't."

"Now I have to keep it a secret from Kyle."

"Oh, not for long," she assured him. "She'll tell him soon."

"You think?" She'd seemed more than a little reluctant to him.

"Probably," Sarah said, groaning as her backpack started to slide down her shoulders.

Michael reached over and held up the bottom of it, helping her to get it readjusted.

"Thanks," she said.

"It's just crazy," he went on. "I didn't even know they were still doin' it."

"Well . . . I think Tess does most of the work. Kyle pretty much just lays there."

"Yeah." He made a face as he started to visualize things he didn't at all want to visualize. "It's crazy. My best friend's gonna be a dad. He's gonna have a kid."

"Sure is."

"Everyone's gettin' pregnant lately. Cheryl, Tess, Tina . . ."

"Must be something in the water," she agreed. "I'd better watch out. Maybe you should wear _two_ condoms now." When he gave her a stunned look, she laughed. "Just kidding."

"I was gonna say, screw that. There's a limit." One was bad enough.

Sarah was clearly still struggling to carry her heavy backpack, so he stopped walking, reached over, and slid it down off her shoulders for her. He slung it up onto his own back, carrying his bag on one shoulder now, hers on the other. No sense in making her do it. The girl was, like, 5'2". This thing practically weighed more than she did.

"Oh, that's better," she said, walking freely now. "You're such a stud."

"I know." Truth was, though, both these bags together were feeling pretty heavy. He needed to hit the weight room again pronto.

"Do you think Tess and Kyle are gonna be okay?" she asked him as they continued walking.

"Sure," he said, wishing he could be one-hundred percent confident about that.

"I think she's really scared to tell him," Sarah revealed.

"Why?"

"Because it's—it's a _baby_ ," she sputtered. "It's life-changing. And Kyle's already had a lot of life-changing things happen to him. I mean, he's partially paralyzed and depressed. He's just not been in a very good frame of mind these past few years."

"So would you be scared to tell me?" he asked, wondering if there was some sort of inherent fear or if Tess and Kyle's situation just magnified it.

"No," she said, before changing her mind. "Maybe a little bit."

"Why?"

"Because you're twenty-one and you're a guy."

"So?"

"So it's just not the kind of thing most twenty-one year old guys wanna hear."

Fair enough, she had him there. But he'd heard it before, and it hadn't freaked him out then.

"But then again," she reconsidered, "you're not the typical twenty-one year old guy. You've been in that dad role before, so I feel like I could tell you pretty easily."

He smiled, happy to hear that. But just to be sure anyway, he asked, "You're _not_ pregnant, right?"

"No. Actually, I just got my period this morning."

"Ugh." He made a face, knowing and dreading what that meant. "So no sex for me this week, huh?"

"Nope."

"Damn." Personally, he was down for it, but Sarah got really self-conscious. "Blow-jobs?" he asked hopefully.

Smiling, she rolled her eyes at his horniness. "Yes."

"Alright, I'm good then." Given all these pregnancies that were popping up, sampling the sausage was probably the way to go anyway.

...

Maria braced herself for a trip down memory lane from the moment she left Carlsbad. She hadn't been to Roswell since she'd left, but she'd always known this day would come. Whether it had been to go visit her mom or maybe just to drive on through, she'd always known she would have to go back to Roswell someday.

It hit her full force from the moment she hit the city limits. There was the Lift-Off gas station, where she'd applied for a job but had been turned down. And there was the outer space themed McDonald's where Michael's dad had worked for a very, _very_ short time before getting fired.

She drove further into town, passing by West Roswell high school and a few blocks later, the library where she used to work with Krista. And then there was the coffee shop where Michael had convinced her to sing on Mother's Day. That was where it had all gone wrong, in retrospect. If she hadn't gotten up there for open mic night, she never would have left town to do any other performances. And Michael wouldn't have had to take care of Dylan on his own.

She drove down to Paseo del Norte and up to the familiar house that had never felt quite like a home. Her mom was the only one living there now, unless she and Jim Valenti were back together. They'd had an on-off thing for years now, so anything was possible.

She didn't stop at her mom's house, even though her mom wasn't home. It was just too painful to be there, not only because of the memories of all the fights that they had had, but because that was the exact spot where she'd had to say goodbye to Michael, the exact road she'd driven off on two and half long years ago. It just hurt too much.

She ended up back on the main drag, bypassing the Blue Moon bar and E.T.'s Pizzeria, and there was the Crashdown. It looked repainted, but other than that . . . exactly the same.

Pulling into a parking space out front, she couldn't help but be nostalgic. As much as she had hated that job, it really had kept her afloat financially. And in the end, even though she hadn't known it at the time . . . working there had changed her life.

There really was no reason to get out of the car and go inside, but she did.

Familiar sights and smells greeted her. It wasn't quite time for lunch yet, so it wasn't very busy. These were the kind of boring shifts that used to make Maria itch with the desire to leave. But now that she was back . . . it didn't seem so bad. She actually even felt kind of hungry.

She looked back into the kitchen, hoping to see her old friend Jose, the cook. But it was someone she didn't recognize, along with someone she did. Liz's dad, Jeff Parker, was at the grill. When he caught sight of her, he recognized her immediately. "Maria!" he called. "Good to see you."

"Hi, Mr. Parker." She walked up to the counter, figuring she wasn't allowed to go around anymore.

"Well, come on over here," he said, halfway hanging out the order window.

"Oh, okay." She made her way to him, almost feeling like she was going back in time. Being back here made it seem like it wasn't all that long ago that she'd actually worked there. If she put on a uniform, she was pretty certain she could waitress just like she used to.

"How are you doing?" Jeff asked her.

"I'm doing good," she replied.

"Back in town, huh?"

"Just for today."

"Yeah. Well, Lizzie tells me the two of you have become pretty close friends."

"Yeah." It was probably a bit odd for most people to comprehend, since they both had a child with Max. But she and Liz had always gotten along well, and there was absolutely no jealousy or animosity there.

"That's great," Jeff said. "That's great. Well, it's good to see you again. Are you gonna stay and eat?"

"Um, sure."

"Excellent. Go ahead and have a seat. It's on me today."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"It's on me," he reiterated.

She smiled at him and headed back out into the diner. There really was no question as to where she was going to sit. Her feet took her over there automatically.

" _Instead of milk, could you get me a beer?" he'd asked._

 _Right away, she'd known he wasn't old enough, but she'd decided to play along. "Sure. Anything else?"_

" _That's it. Thanks . . ." He looked at her nametag, then flashed her a grin that had probably made countless girls go weak in the knew. "Maria."_

She pushed the memory out of her mind.

God, how many times had Michael come into this place and sat down right there in that booth? Sometimes he'd been with Kyle, sometimes with Isabel, sometime with Tina; but most of the time, he'd just come in on his own. And always, every single time, he'd sat in that same booth along the north wall, the one that was in the middle of all the others.

She sat down opposite the side he usually sat on, and an incredible feeling of _déjà vu_ swept over her. Even though she'd usually been waiting on him, she'd spent plenty of break time sitting here with him, just talking to him, trying to figure out who he was and what his life was about. She remembered helping him study and watching him begrudgingly fill out his college application for Alabama. And she remembered . . . other stuff, too. Like a first kiss, and a first . . .

Well. She didn't need to be remembering that.

"Welcome to the Crashdown. Can I get you something to drink?"

That voice. She recognized that crackling smoker's voice before she even looked up to see who it was. "Agnes?" Good God, she was still working there?

"Yes?"

"It's me."

No response.

"Maria."

Agnes just looked at her as though she had no idea who she was.

"We worked together for a year."

Agnes shrugged unapologetically. "I don't remember you."

Maria sighed, deflated. "Just get me a coke then," she mumbled.

With that same trademark _lack_ of customer service she'd always had, Agnes slowly crept off to fill her up a drink.

With her gone, Maria was left with her memories again, and this time, she remembered that fateful day when Michael had defended her. Those greasy trucker guys she used to hate waiting on had been giving her a hard time, and he'd stood up for her, protected her, even punched them out for her. She'd been so angry with him at the time, because the whole thing had caused a scene and gotten her fired. But looking back on it now . . . she really did feel grateful.

After gorging on a cheeseburger and fries for lunch, Maria said goodbye to Jeff, who made her promise to come back sometime, and Agnes, who apparently wasn't too concerned about a tip because she just rolled her eyes at her. She got back in her car and drove around a little bit more, trying to work up the courage to turn onto those old, familiar streets that would lead her to that old, familiar house.

It dawned on her as she got closer that Krista and Tina might not even be home. It was a weekday, after all. Tina would most likely be at school, and Krista would most likely be at work. She didn't work at the library anymore. She remembered Michael telling her that.

Deciding to chance it, she slowly pulled up outside the Guerin house, noticing that her fingers were shaking. Her heart was pounding, and her mind had gone completely blank as she tried very hard not to remember much at all.

With trembling fingers, she shut off the car and pulled the key out of the ignition. A car she recognized as Krista's was in the driveway, so maybe she was home after all. It was worth a shot.

Maria got out of the car, took a deep breath to calm herself, and headed up to the front door. _Don't think,_ she coached herself. _Don't remember._ But it was so hard not to when all she could hear was Michael's _"I hate you"_ ringing in her ears. They'd been standing right out there in the front yard, fighting about her decision to leave when he'd said it.

She tried the doorbell, but it didn't seem to work anymore, so she knocked instead. In a way, it felt weird to not just walk right in. But in another way, it just felt weird to be back there at all.

She heard someone coming downstairs, and seconds later, the door unlocked, and Krista opened it. She literally gasped when she saw Maria standing there, as if she were seeing a ghost or something.

Maria smiled softly, not sure what to say to the woman who had almost become her mother-in-law. "Hi."

Mouth agape, Krista managed a stunned, "Hi," in response. She held one hand to her chest and kept staring at Maria in disbelief. At last, though, she smiled, too, and she stepped outside to hug her. "Oh, goodness," she said. "How are you?"

Maria hugged her back, blinking to keep the tears inside. "I'm good." It was strange, but even though seeing Michael after years apart had terrified her, seeing Krista just made her realize how much she'd missed her.

Krista slowly released her, smiling tearfully. "I never thought I'd see you again," she admitted. "You look exactly the same."

"So do you." That wasn't completely true, though. There was more grey in her hair now, more wrinkles beneath her eyes. But she still looked warm and compassionate and seemed to have all the same qualities Maria had always admired about her.

"Well, come on in," Krista said, stepping back inside, holding the door open.

"Thanks." Maria stepped inside nervously, her heart nearly beating out of her chest. She looked around and felt like she was just . . . back. Back to that time in her life when this house had become her sanctuary, her safe haven from everything out there in the big, bad world.

"Can I get you something to eat?" Krista offered as she closed the door. "Something to drink?"

"Oh, I'm good. Thanks," Maria politely declined, still focused on taking in her surroundings. Nothing much had changed. The kitchen looked the same, the living room had the same setup. Except there were no pictures of Andy anymore. The only photos she saw on the end table and on the fireplace mantle were of Tina, Michael, and Krista.

"Go ahead, sit down," Krista said, motioning towards the couch.

"Okay." Maria wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her jeans and took a seat on the middle cushion, fighting to keep the memories from invading her mind. Right now, it was mainly the memory of Christmas with Michael, sitting there right on that couch with him, playing her guitar, singing a song that would now _always_ make her think of him. She couldn't let those overcome her right now, though, not if she wanted to be able to carry on a comprehensible conversation.

"It's so good to see you," Krista said, sitting beside her.

"You, too."

"I just really never thought . . ." Krista trailed off and smiled at her again. "How have you been?" she asked. "How's Dylan?"

"He's great," Maria happily informed her. "He's in kindergarten now."

Krista brought one hand up to cover her mouth, and for a brief moment, she got a little teary-eyed. "Wow."

"I know, right?"

"It seems like just yesterday we were having his birthday party, and he was turning three."

"I know." Time really had flown right by. "But he's doing really good. He likes school, and he likes his teacher. He likes playing football."

"Oh, does he?"

"Yeah." At this rate, he'd probably keep playing all through high school. Maybe he'd even end up being as good as his coach. It was too early to tell.

"And what about you?" Krista asked. "What have you been up to?"

"Well . . ." It was nice to be able to tell her all of this. "I'm in college."

Again, Krista's eyes filled with tears. "Did you get your GED?" she asked tearfully.

"Yeah."

She wiped a few tears away and gave her a quick, proud hug again. "Good for you."

"Thank you." None of this would have been possible without Krista. If she hadn't agreed to let her live with them . . . well, it was scary to think about what might have happened to her, what kind of person she might have become.

"So where did you go when you left?" Krista questioned gently. "I always wondered."

"It was just all around for a while," Maria replied. "But eventually I settled down in Houston."

"Oh, that's a big city."

"Yeah. But I liked it there."

"Yeah? So what—what're you doing back here then? Are you visiting your mom?"

"Um . . ." Maria moved around a bit, sort of confused. "Didn't Michael tell you?"

"Michael?" Krista echoed. "What do you mean?"

 _Oh, shit._ She had just assumed that Krista would know. "I, uh . . . I'm going to college in Carlsbad," she explained. "Michael and I actually have a class together."

Krista's eyes widened in shock. " _What_?"

"Yeah, a music one."

"Michael's in a music class?"

"Music Appreciation?" Was this ringing any kind of bell?

Apparently not. "Well, this is news to me," Krista said. "No, he, uh . . . he didn't tell me about any of that. I had no idea."

"Well . . . surprise." She tried to laugh a little.

"Wow," Krista said as she processed it. "So . . . so you and Michael have seen each other again?"

 _We sit by each other every day in that class,_ Maria thought, suddenly wondering if there was something wrong with that. "Yeah, we have."

"What's that been like?"

"Well . . . it was weird at first," she admitted. "It's still kinda weird. But he introduced me to Sarah. We even went over there for dinner Saturday night."

"We?" Krista echoed. "You and Dylan?"

 _Oh, crap._ She just kept putting her foot in her mouth, didn't she? "No, me and . . . and Max," she stuttered weakly.

"Max." Krista let that name roll over her tongue, and she remembered who he was right away. "That's Dylan's father, isn't it?"

Maria subtly wiped her hands on her jeans again. "Yeah."

Krista didn't say anything in response to that, but Maria could tell what she was thinking. _That's the man who took Dylan out of this house and drove off with him. That man is the reason why Michael jumped off a bridge._

"Sarah invited us," Maria added, just to shift the topic away from Max. "She seems really nice. I can see why Michael likes her."

"Oh, yes, she's amazing," Krista readily agreed. "Smart girl. Driven."

 _Both things I've just never quite been able to be,_ Maria thought regretfully. She wasn't going to get down on herself, though. Today wasn't about her. "Hey, so listen," she said, "Michael told me some things that have . . . changed since I've been gone."

"He told you about Andy," Krista guessed.

"Yeah." It didn't matter if the man had been a miserable alcoholic; he'd still been Krista's husband and Michael and Tina's dad. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Krista said. "It was hard time, especially for Tina. Michael's handled it alright, though."

"And about Tina . . ." she carefully segued. "Michael told me she's . . ." She trailed off, not wanting to say the word.

"He told you?"

"Yeah."

Krista sighed, looking down at her lap, wiping a few more tears away, sad ones this time. "That's been especially hard for _me_ ," she confessed. "We've grown pretty distant these past couple years. She's, uh . . . opinionated and rebellious and . . ." She shrugged helplessly. "Pregnant. She's pregnant."

Maria inhaled shakily, not sure if she was going to be able to handle seeing Tina with a baby bump. Or . . . was she far enough along to have a bump yet? She couldn't remember. "That's actually why I'm here," she revealed. "Michael thought it might be a good idea for me to talk to her."

"Oh, he did, did he?"

"Yeah." _Maybe I shouldn't have just shown up out of the blue like this,_ Maria thought, second-guessing everything now. Clearly this was not a course of action Michael had discussed with his mother. "It's just that . . . I went through it, you know, when I was just a year older than her. And sometimes talking to someone who's been through the exact same thing . . ."

"It can help," Krista agreed.

"Yeah. I mean, if you don't want me to, I don't have to. It's just that Michael made it sound like you guys were having a hard time getting through to her, so maybe . . ." She trailed off, not sure if she was the right person for this job. Half the time, she could hardly put a coherent sentence together. "I don't know."

"No, I would be more than willing to have you talk to her," Krista said. "But she's very different from when you left. She's _very_ different."

"I get that." Hell, back when she'd gotten pregnant, she'd been a burgeoning drug-addict and a total party girl. People changed.

"It's not that we don't want her to have the baby," Krista made sure to explain. "We just think she's too young, and it would be the best decision for her to put it up for adoption."

"I agree," Maria said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Dylan, but . . . I know my life would've been easier if I'd put him up for adoption like I originally planned."

"What changed your mind?" Krista asked.

"Max." Maria rolled her eyes at her own adolescent stupidity. "My boyfriend at the time."

"And current boyfriend," Krista added.

"Yes." Again . . . people changed.

"See, that's the problem," Krista said. "Tina has a boyfriend, too. His name's Nicholas; he's a freshman in high school. She thinks they're in love."

 _Maybe they are,_ Maria thought, but she wasn't about to voice it. She totally believed in the possibility of falling in love at a young age, but that still wasn't any reason to attempt to raise a child together. "Do you think I could talk to her?" she asked. "I'd really like to."

Krista reached over and held her hands, squeezing gently. "Sure," she said. "Maybe that might help."

She sure hoped it would.

She followed Krista upstairs to Tina's room, and they knocked lightly on the door. "Tina?" Krista said. "She stayed home sick today."

 _Morning sickness,_ Maria registered. She remembered that well.

"Tina?" Krista pushed open the door, and right away, Maria realized something wasn't right. There was a big, long lump on Tina's bed, but it was covered up completely with blankets. Clearly not her.

"Tina?" Krista pulled back the blankets, and indeed, there were only a bunch of pillows on her bed, arranged to look like a sleeping person. "Unbelievable," she muttered.

 _No, believable,_ Maria thought. She'd done the exact same thing countless times.

"She snuck out."

"Probably to her boyfriend's," Maria deduced. Where else would she be so desperate to go?

"Unbelievable," Krista ground out again. "I'm sorry, Maria, I have to go find her."

"I understand."

"But you can just wait here," Krista offered. "Make yourself at home. Shouldn't be too hard."

Maria smiled nervously. _No. No, it really shouldn't._

"I'm gonna go find her and bring her back here," Krista decided, "and then maybe when I'm done yelling at her, you can talk some sense in to her. I just don't know what to say to her anymore."

"Right." The whole thing was so sad, and so reminiscent of the deterioration of her own relationship with her mother. She didn't want Tina and Krista to end up being so combative, so estranged.

"I'll be back," Krista said, heading back downstairs. In seconds, she seemed to have located her keys, put on her shoes, and headed out.

Maria shut the door to Tina's room again and stood in the upstairs hallway by herself now, feeling completely . . . tempted. Tempted to open up that next door and look inside at Michael's room. Just to see if it still looked the same. Just to remember.

She reached for the doorknob, hesitating when her fingertips just barely grazed it. _No,_ her mind screamed. _Don't do this._ There was just _too_ much to remember in there.

Stuffing her hand in her pocket, she hurried back downstairs, figuring maybe she could just sit in the laundry room until Krista returned. No major memories in there.


	26. Chapter 26

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah."

"Where's Mom?"

Max latched Dylan into his car seat, making sure the seatbelt was extra snug around his waist. "She couldn't come get you today," he responded. "That's why I'm here. Is that alright?"

Dylan nodded. "Yeah."

"Yeah? Good." So far, this had gone much smoother than the first time he'd attempted to pick Dylan up from school this year. Michael Guerin hadn't stormed outside and started punching him yet. "All ready to go?" he asked.

Dylan nodded affirmatively.

"Alright." Max shut the door to the backseat, and then his cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and glanced down at the name. It was Amy. "Hello?" he answered, confused as to why she would be calling him.

"Hi, Max," she said. "Is my daughter around? I've been trying to reach her all day."

Max frowned. "Isn't she with you?"

"What do you mean?"

 _What?_ He thought back to his conversation with Maria, pretty sure that he'd heard her right. "I thought she was helpin' you at the store today."

"The store?" Amy echoed. " _My_ store?"

"Yeah."

There was a bit of a pause, then a long, drawn-out, "No . . . I haven't even talked to her today, let alone seen her. What's going on?"

That was what he wanted to know. Something wasn't adding up. What Amy was telling him and what Maria had told him were two completely different things. "Amy, I'll call you back," he decided, ending the call.

He looked around, not sure why he was doing so. Wherever Maria was . . . she wasn't there.

...

As it turned out, it didn't matter where Maria went in the Guerin house. Every single room was saturated with memories, some of them innocent and some of them . . . not so innocent. God, even the laundry room had sex memories.

The racier memories were the ones that hit first, but they weren't necessarily the ones that hit the hardest. There were little things that popped into her mind and stayed there. Like when she was in the kitchen, remembering how she and Michael used to do dishes or try to cook together, and they'd spend more time flirting than actually accomplishing their task. Or when she went to sit out on the front porch but couldn't because that was where he'd told her loved her for the first time.

God, it was ridiculous.

There was one room, however, that wasn't a big reminder of either romance or sexuality, and that was the little room that used to be Dylan's. She didn't expect it to look the same, and lo behold, it didn't. Same wallpaper, same carpet, but the bed Michael had put together was for him was covered with boxes now, and the shelves he'd assembled were devoid of toys.

Maria mainly waited in that room, but eventually . . . something got the best of her. Curiosity? Reminiscence? Whatever it was, it drove her back upstairs and back to the closed door to Michael's room. She went inside this time and, because of habit, shut the door behind her.

There was no need to flip on the light. Even in shadow, she could make out the outline of everything. Dresser, mirror, desk . . . bed.

Suddenly it was like her mind was overloaded, and _so_ much was coming back. Plenty of sex memories, sure, but other memories, too. Like the first night she'd spent in that room. The first time they'd shared the bed. Unchained Melody. A proposal.

 _Oh god._ Maybe it had been a mistake to come in here.

Thankfully, she heard the front door open and slam shut, only to be opened again a few seconds later. Yelling arose from downstairs, mostly teenage angsty yelling, but Krista was raising her voice, too.

"You just have to accept the fact that I'm not a little kid anymore!" Tina shouted. Her voice had lost its high pitch of childhood.

"Well, you sure are acting childish."

Maria left the bedroom, standing in the hallway unsurely. Should she go down?

"Because you won't give me any freedom!" Tina yelled. "God!" She stormed upstairs then, and when she was nearly at the top, she spotted Maria and spat, "What the hell is this?"

Tina was wearing too much makeup and a tight shirt, making it easy to notice her baby bump. It took Maria aback for a moment, but she still managed a friendly greeting. "Hi, Tina."

But Tina clearly wasn't happy to see her. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," she grumbled, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. She stormed right past Maria and into her room, slamming the door.

 _Well, that went nowhere,_ Maria thought. Not that she had expected much more than that.

She went back downstairs, saddened to see Krista sitting on the couch with her head in her hands, crying. This poor woman didn't deserve this. "Maybe this isn't the best time," she said, sensing that this mother/daughter argument wasn't going to die down anytime soon.

"No, it's as good of time as any," Krista said tearfully. "You might as well go try."

 _Go?_ Maria thought timidly. _Up there?_ As pathetic as it was, she was intimidated by Tina's attitude right now. Teenage girls were the worst people to try to reason with.

 _I came all this way,_ she reminded herself, heading back up. _I have to go for it._

Hesitantly, she knocked on the door to Tina's room, twisting the knob and peeking her head in without a formal invitation. "Hey, Tina, can I come in?" she asked.

Sitting on her bed, flipping through a fashion magazine, Tina didn't even glance up. "No, but I guess you're going to, so knock yourself out."

Maria slowly stepped inside and closed the door, trying to remember what it had been like to be this young and moody once. "I know this is probably throwing you for a loop right now," she said, "but-"

"You're in college," Tina broke in. "With Michael. So I'm guessing he told you to come talk to me."

Maria was a bit surprised she knew so much. Apparently Michael had told her a little more than he'd told his mom. "He did," she acknowledged, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "He's worried about you. So is your mom."

Tina grunted and tore a picture of Austin Mahone out of the magazine. "My mom's annoying."

" _My_ mom is annoying," Maria corrected. "Yours is amazing."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Actually, I do," Maria insisted. "I know exactly what I'm talking about and exactly what you're going through, because I went through it, too."

Tina snorted, tossing her magazine aside. "So you're just the expert on teen pregnancy now?"

"No." It was ridiculous to think that anyone could be an expert on such a thing. "I just . . . I can relate."

Tina wrinkled her face in disgust and snarled, "I'm nothing like you."

The way she said it . . . there was such contempt, as if she resented the comparison. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, please," Tina scoffed. "You got knocked up by a drug addict. I'm having a baby with a guy that I love."

Already, Maria felt speechless. Not good considering she was here to deliver some very persuasive speaking. "Look, Tina, I'm not questioning your feelings for him . . ."

"Sure you are," she interrupted knowingly.

"But I thought Max and I were in love in high school, too. But me being pregnant changed everything. It showed me just how immature and irresponsible he really was."

"But you still had the baby," Tina pointed out.

"Right, but I was gonna give him up for adoption."

"So why didn't you?"

She sighed, not used to telling this part of her story. "Because Max convinced me not to." It wasn't easy to be this open about the past. "He said he was gonna be there for me, but . . ." She blinked back tears, forcing a sad smile. ". . . obviously he wasn't."

"Hmm." Tina narrowed her eyes contemplatively. "Then it's a good thing Michael was."

That wasn't what this was about. "My point is, I should've put him up for adoption," Maria admitted. "I would've, if I'd been thinking clearly."

"Oh my god," Tina gasped. "Do you hear yourself? You're basically saying you don't even love your son."

Maria stared at her in horror, mortified that something so rude and so hurtful and so _wrong_ was coming out of this girl's once innocent mouth. "Don't you dare put words in my mouth," she warned. "That is not what I'm saying. I love Dylan more than anything, and I love being his mom. But that doesn't mean it's been easy. I had to give up so much so that I could provide for him. There's so much I missed out on."

"But I have Nicholas." Tina's smile was a self-satisfied, overly-confident one. "He's gonna help me."

Maria was skeptical about that. "Yeah, so he says."

"You don't even know him."

"Tina, I just don't want you to delude yourself into thinking everything's gonna be okay and everything's gonna be easy," Maria cautioned. "You have options here."

Tina crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. "No, I'm keeping my baby."

"I just think that maybe you should think it through." Maria was starting to grow frustrated, feeling like she was talking to a brick wall.

"You know what?" Tina huffed. "I think you're exaggerating. Look at you, you're not struggling. You got to college; you have a life."

"Because I didn't give up. But trust me, it is _so_ easy to give up when you're put in this position. I almost did so many times, but I got lucky because I had people who cared about me and believed in me."

"Why don't you just cut to the chase?" Tina barked. "You had Michael."

As much as Maria didn't want to talk about him . . . Tina was right. He was the one who had cared and believed most of all. "Yeah, I had him," she acknowledged. "He was there for me when I needed him most." She started to get a little choked up remembering that night he'd driven up to her outside of James Winston's house. She'd felt so lost and disgusted with herself, and he'd just . . . taken care of her. "Tina, you don't even know how bad it got," she whimpered shakily. "I lost my job, and my mom kicked me out. Dylan and I were homeless; we slept in the library. I was willing to do crazy, stupid things just to get money. I was _so_ desperate." She wiped tears away as unwanted memories of that horrible experience crept back in. "If your brother hadn't come into my life when he did, if he hadn't _saved_ me . . ." She shook her head. "I don't even know where I'd be right now."

Tina was silent for a bit, and Maria hoped it was because she was taking it all in and starting to understand. But no such luck, as seconds later, she was glaring at her accusatorily, demanding, "Then how could you leave him?"

Maria opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"You left him all alone after he did so much for you!" Tina screeched. "And you never even called to see if he was okay!"

She'd thought about it—hell, she'd had some nights where she'd fallen asleep with the phone in her hand. But a clean break had been the only way to go. "Seems like he's doing fine to me," she pointed out.

"Yeah, now," Tina huffed. "But you didn't see him right after you left. That whole summer, he was so depressed; he barely even came out of his room. He wouldn't talk to anyone. The only time he ever did anything was when he'd take off on some weekend road trip to try to find you."

 _He did that?_ Maria thought. She didn't know . . .

"He loved you so much, and you didn't even care!"

"No." That just _wasn't_ right. "I loved him, too."

"No, you didn't," Tina argued vehemently, showing no signs of letting up. "Because you just left! He asked you to marry him, and you showed your appreciation by dumping him. That's not love."

It was, though. It had been. Why didn't people understand that? "Look, if you don't want me passing judgment on whether or not you love your boyfriend, maybe you shouldn't pass judgment on whether or not I loved mine," she advised.

"I'll pass judgment if I want to," Tina declared stubbornly, "because I don't respect you. And I don't respect what you did."

 _Then no wonder you won't even try to listen to me,_ Maria thought. If she didn't have Tina's respect, giving her advice was going to be nearly impossible. "You know what? This isn't even about me."

"Oh, of course it is. It's _all_ about you. The only reason you came here is so that you'll feel less guilty."

That wasn't the only reason . . . but it was sure part of it. She hadn't expected Tina to be perceptive enough to pick up on it, though. "What?"

"Oh, come on, you and Michael are both so obvious." Tina rolled her eyes. "You guys are worried you set a bad example for me. And you know what? You did. I always knew you guys were screwing your brains out. But that's not why I started having sex. I did it because I wanted to, and I was ready."

That rounded stomach begged to differ with that claim. "Clearly you weren't."

Tina touched her stomach, looking just the slightest bit self-conscious for a moment. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, and her bravado was back. "You know what, Maria? I don't have to listen to you. You're just a selfish bitch who never deserved my brother in the first place."

Even though she hated to sit there and get bullied by a fourteen year old, Maria was so shocked by all of this that she didn't even know what to say.

"So take your advice and shove it," Tina said, "because I didn't ask for it, and I don't want it."

Maria swallowed hard, trying to push down all the emotions this conversation was bringing up. "Well, you could really use it." She rose to her feet and turned to leave.

"Hey," Tina snapped.

Maria reluctantly turned back around.

"Don't try to break up Michael and Sarah. They belong together."

 _What?_ Where had _that_ come from? "I'm not-"

"He loves her more than he ever loved you." Tina gave her a cold, hard stare down. "She's the one he's gonna marry now."

Maria didn't want to be so affected . . . but it was hard not to be. She had to get out of there before Tina saw just how upset she'd made her.

She managed to hold it in as she left the room, but from the second she shut the door, the tears started to fall. She couldn't go back downstairs and face Krista like this, so she did what instinct told her to do, and she rushed back into Michael's bedroom—formerly _their_ bedroom—so she could shed these tears on her own.

...

The day had been exhausting. Completely, utterly draining in a way Maria hadn't experienced for a while. She was able to say goodbye to Krista and leave her on good terms, at least, but that was it. By the time she got back to Carlsbad, it was already almost 8:00, and all she wanted to do was go to bed early.

Instead of heading straight home, though, she found herself at the Vidorra suites, right outside Michael's door. She knocked lightly, feeling like she barely had enough strength to raise her arm to the door.

He opened it a few seconds later. Sweatpants and a t-shirt. Classic Michael bedroom attire. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she echoed, glancing inside unsurely. "Can I come in?"

It took him a few moments to respond, but he finally said, "Yeah," and stepped out of the way.

She went inside, careful not to even brush against him at all, and noticed that _American Ninja Warrior_ was on TV, and there was a pile of blankets on the couch, and Shango was in the middle of them. Apparently he and Michael had been vegging.

"Where's Sarah?" she asked.

"Study group," he replied, shutting the door. "What's up?"

She flapped her arms against her sides unenergetically. "I just thought you should know that I went to Roswell to talk to Tina today."

His eyebrows shot up. "Well, that explains the five missed calls I have from my mom."

"I thought that you had told her about us."

"Us?" He gave her a curious look.

"You know, that we're . . . friends again." God, why did it always feel so strange to say that word?

"I didn't tell her anything," he admitted.

"Yeah, I gathered that much from the astonished look on her face. Tina didn't seem so surprised, though."

"No, she knew," he said, picking the remote control up off the arm of the couch. He pressed the mute button, then asked, "So how'd it go?"

"Well . . . with your mom, it went great."

"Hmm." It seemed as if he had expected that. "Would Tina even talk to you?"

"Oh, she talked." Some of the things that she'd said were going to be hard to forget. "In fact, she was quite chatty."

"What'd she say?"

She shrugged, deciding it was best not to recount Tina's tirade about the dissolution of their relationship. "Just more of what you don't wanna hear."

"Dammit," he sighed. "You know what? It's that little shit Nicholas. This is all his fault."

"No, it's hers, too," Maria corrected. As easy as it was to just blame the boy . . . it took two, and Tina was certainly not innocent. "She's being stubborn and stupid and rebellious. She's making bad choices, and she's gonna have to deal with the consequences." It startled her to hear how much she sounded like her own mom, but . . . it was true.

"What'd you say to her?" he asked.

"I just tried to advise her to give it up for adoption, tried to explain to her how hard things were for me. But she didn't wanna hear it."

Nodding solemnly, he mumbled, "Well, thanks for tryin'."

She grunted, not sure if her efforts today even deserved any thanks. "I probably did more harm than good."

"No, you didn't," he assured her. "Thanks."

She let out a heavy breath, reluctantly accepting his gratitude. She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a question.

"Was this your first time bein' back in Roswell?"

Maybe if it hadn't have been, today would have been easier. "Yeah," she replied.

"Did you drive around town?"

"Yeah. I even had lunch at the Crashdown."

He grinned. "Tip your waitress?"

"Well, it was Agnes."

"Oh, so no then," he recognized. Pausing a moment, he quietly asked, "Were you in my house when you and Tina . . ."

She inhaled shakily, not sure how he would feel about this. "Yeah."

Another pause. Another question. "Did it bring back memories?"

Well, her head was still spinning, and she could still hear 'Unchained Melody' playing in her mind. So . . . "Lots," she confessed.

He locked eyes with her and didn't say anything, but there was a knowing look on his face and the hints of a smile at the corners of his mouth. And that was all the response she needed to feel a little bit better and a little less exhausted. After all, it was nice to know that being there brought back memories for him, too.

...

 _I need. To go. To bed,_ Maria thought as she staggered through the door that night. Even though her talk with Michael had left her feeling marginally better, she still pretty much felt like crap. The whole day had been one miserable failure.

Max was sitting in the living room, the only light illuminating his face coming from the TV. Dylan wasn't up and about, so that probably meant he'd gone to sleep early tonight, too. A small miracle.

"Hey," she said, tossing her purse down at the door.

"Hey," he returned, lowering the volume on the TV. "So how'd it go today?"

"Fine." She took off her shoes, then yawned. "I'm tired."

"Long day, huh?"

"Very." She made her way over to him and sat down on the arm of the couch, absentmindedly running her fingers through his hair. Maybe he'd be able to make her feel better. Although . . . it didn't seem likely. He wasn't even looking up at her, and he didn't reach up to touch her at all. "Are you okay?" she asked, sensing that something was off.

"Not really," he muttered, turning off the TV altogether. It became completely dark in the living room. "You wanna tell me where you were today?"

 _What?_ Why was he asking that? Did he know something? Playing dumb, she asked, "What do you mean?"

He reached over and flipped on the lamp, squinting against the sudden brightness. "Your mom called this afternoon," he informed her. "She wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving plans, but she couldn't reach you, so she just called me."

Maria's stomach tightened. _Oh . . . crap._ Of all the days for her mother to call her boyfriend, this was not the day.

"Where were you, Maria?" he asked forcefully, but not aggressively. "You weren't with her."

She got up off the arm of the couch and paced around a bit, hating herself for not just being honest in the first place. "I _did_ go back to Roswell," she said, swallowing her anxiety as she revealed, "I went to see Michael's family."

Max frowned in confusion. "Why?"

She sighed, not sure if it was really her place to say. But she had no choice; she had to tell him the truth. "His little sister is pregnant."

Max's eyes bulged. "Isn't she really young?"

"Yeah, even younger than I was." She squeezed in between him and the arm of the couch, staying very close to him even when he tried to scoot away. "She's in the _eighth grade_."

"My god," he said.

"I know. And she has it in her head that she and her boyfriend are just gonna raise this baby and everything's gonna be fine, but . . ." There was definitely something to be said for realism, and Tina didn't have any of it. "She's not even thinking."

Max nodded as he took everything in. "So you went to see her."

"And talk to her, yeah. I thought it might be a good idea." For now, there was no need to reveal that Michael had been the one to plant the idea in her head. Some things were better left unsaid.

"Was it?" he asked. "Was it a good idea?"

She sighed, defeated. "No. She hates me. But I tried. I just had to try something."

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I just thought that . . ." She wasn't even sure of the answer herself, so it was hard to explain. "I wasn't sure if you would understand."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because . . . the things that I was telling her about . . ." She kept stopping and starting over, trying to phrase this in a way that wouldn't offend or upset him. "I was telling her about _us_ , Max, _our_ past. I was trying to stop our past from becoming her future."

"I understand," he said calmly. "I was a jerk back then. We were a cautionary tale."

"I just . . . I didn't wanna hurt your feelings."

"The only thing that hurts my feelings is that you lied to me," he told her. "Again."

She nodded, accepting the harsh truth of that. She had lied. She'd been lying too much lately. "You're right," she acknowledged. "I'm sorry. I was wrong."

"Just tell me the truth," he said, getting to his feet. "That's all I ask."

That wasn't asking for much. She could give that to him. For sure.

"I'm goin' to bed," he announced, and without so much as a kiss goodnight, he headed down the hall. But she supposed she didn't deserve one anyway. What she _probably_ deserved was to sleep out on the couch, but he wouldn't make her do that.

...

The phone calls from his mom kept calling, so Michael gave in and called her back a short time after Maria left. He was actually a little bit wary of what she might say, but once they started talking, it was fine.

"I was just surprised to see her is all," his mom said. "A little forewarning would've been nice."

"I didn't know she was gonna do that today," he said, moving the phone away for a moment as he peeled off his shirt. "I didn't know she was gonna do it at all."

"I guess I just never even imagined that she was . . . back in your life."

"We're just friends," he assured her, not sure why he felt the need to assure her of that. He lay down on the bed, adding, "It's not like we're . . ."

"I know," she said, "but . . . Michael, do you know what you're doing here? This sounds complicated."

"It's fine," he promised. Now that Sarah knew about all of this, it wasn't all that complicated anymore. Sarah: girlfriend. Maria: ex-girlfriend. Sort of current friend. Whatever.

"Well, I didn't mind seeing her again," his mom went on. "Tina was pretty awful to her, though. I felt so horrible and embarrassed."

"Yeah, Maria said it was pretty rough."

"So—so you talked to her?" his mom sputtered. "On the phone, or-"

"No, she came by."

His mom sighed audibly. "Okay."

"What? I told you, we're tryin' to be friends."

"Trying to be," she echoed.

"Mom . . ." He knew what she was thinking, and it wasn't like that.

"Just make sure you have some very clear boundaries set in place," she advised. "I know Sarah's understanding, but still . . ."

Just as she said that, Sarah came home, exclaiming, "Boyfriend!" excitedly.

"Mom, I gotta go," he said. "Talk to you later."

"Oh, okay. Bye."

"Bye." He ended the call and tossed his phone aside on the mattress, then sat up.

"Ooh, you look so good!" she squealed, jumping onto the bed. She moved in behind him, wrapped her arms around his midsection, and kissed the side of his neck. Girl was feeling frisky.

"You have a good day?" he asked.

"Yeah. All that studying was good for my brain. But now, I think my _body_ . . ." She leaned back so she could pull her shirt over her head. ". . . needs some attention." She snuggled up behind him again, and he got a rush feeling her breasts against his back.

"I can give that to you," he proclaimed, swiveling around so that he could take her into his arms, kiss her, and fall back onto the bed with her. Sure, she still had her damn period, but there was plenty of other fun stuff they could do.

...

 _What am I trying to say here?_ Maria fretted as she hurriedly scribbled a couple sentences at the end of her short-answer essay. Hers was turning out to be not so short—she was having to scrunch up all her writing at the bottom of the page—because she was just rambling on and on without really saying anything of substance.

"Time," the professor declared. "Pencils down."

Beside her, Michael was able to put her pencil down right away, but Maria wasn't done yet, so she erased something, then wrote something, then crossed it out, then just gave up on it altogether and slammed her pencil down.

"Turn your tests in," the professor instructed. "You're dismissed."

"God, that sucked," she groaned.

"I thought it was easy," Michael remarked.

"Lucky you." She handed her test to the TA, who was collecting them all starting at the back of the room.

"Thanks, sweetheart," the TA said.

Michael handed his to him as well and then asked, "Why do you think it sucked?"

"Because I didn't know any of the answers. I drew a blank."

He grinned. "I knew 'em all."

"Oh, well, good for you." In that moment, she wanted to rip his damn head off. "You aced it."

"I hope so," he muttered, packing up his backpack. "I studied my ass off this weekend."

"I didn't have time," she lamented. "And I hardly got any sleep last night, so half the stuff I wrote probably didn't even make sense." This was how it had always been for her. She just wasn't a good student. Average was about as good as she could hope to get.

"Why didn't you get any sleep?" he inquired.

She rubbed her temples to ease the dull headache that had been persisting all morning. "Because, I was just, like, thinking about things."

"Tina?" he guessed.

That was definitely the root of it, but it went further than that. "Yeah, kinda."

He zipped up his backpack, but instead of getting up and swinging it over his shoulders, he stayed sitting, even angling himself to face her. "What'd she say?"

She shook her head, not wanting to rehash it. "It wasn't just what she said; it was _how_ she said it. She was just _so_ mad."

"At you?"

"Yeah." Around them, everyone else was leaving now, so she waited until most of them were gone to keep going. "Which I kind of expected, because last time she saw me, she hated me. So I guess she still hates me."

"What'd she say?" he asked again.

"It doesn't matter."

"Just tell me."

"No, it's-"

"Hey," the professor interrupted. Up at the front of the auditorium, he and his TA were already packed up and ready to leave. "You two comin'?"

"Yes," Maria said.

But Michael had a different idea. "No, can we just stay here for a minute?"

"Just hit the lights on your way out," the professor said, and with those horrible tests peeking out of the folder in his hand, he and his TA left. And then it was just the two of them in that big, unusually quiet lecture hall.

"So are you gonna tell me?" Michael continued to press.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't matter. I feel stupid. I feel stupid for getting worked up over something a teenager said."

This time, he didn't tell her to tell him. He just locked eyes with her, looking at her expectantly. And she had a feeling he was going to keep looking at her like that until she spilled.

"Okay, fine," she relented, "she—she basically accused me of being a horrible person when I left Roswell. She said I never deserved you, and I was just a selfish bitch and-"

"She said that?" he cut in.

" _Yes_. And she said that you did so much for me, but I didn't really love you because I left you. And a bunch of other stuff."

He frowned, quiet for a moment until he agreed, "She shouldn't have said that."

"I know. But I guess I just can't help but feel like, or . . . _wonder_ if . . ." She rolled her eyes at her own insecurity in that moment, feeling pathetic. ". . . maybe you agree with her."

He made a face. "What would I agree with?"

"Do you think I'm selfish?"

"No."

"Do you think I'm a bitch?"

"Only sometimes." He smirked, but added, "Kidding," when she gave him a warning look. "Mostly."

"Well, do you think . . ." She actually started to feel a little choked up when she asked the question she was _really_ dreading hearing the answer to. "Do you think I didn't love you?"

He averted his eyes, hesitating, and that made her worry that he was going to agree with Tina. But when he reassured her, "No, I know you loved me," it made her feel better.

"Really?" Because she truly had, and she didn't want anyone to be under the impression that she hadn't. Most of all him.

"Of course," he said. "I mean . . . come on, that's not even a question."

"Well, Tina questioned it," she pointed out. But that was fine. As long as Michael knew the truth, she supposed that was all that mattered.

"Don't worry," he said. "I know you loved me. It just wasn't enough."

Her brows furrowed, not liking the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you _did_ leave," he reminded her.

"Because I didn't wanna hold you back in life." That hadn't been a spontaneous decision at all; she'd had valid, well thought-out reasons.

"How do you know you would've held me back?" he countered.

"I just—I didn't wanna take the chance."

"Right, so . . ." He shrugged, as though she were magically supposed to understand what he was saying.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just . . ." He gave her a matter of fact look. "Okay, let's face it: You _did_ love me, but . . . I loved you more."

She was so stunned to hear him say that that all she could get out was a single astonished, " _What_?"

"I mean, it's obvious."

What was obvious? She didn't understand. "What're you _talking_ about? You loved me _more_? What is _that_?"

"I did," he insisted. "Look, maybe you _were_ just lookin' out for me, but . . . where my head was at and where my heart was at, I couldn't have left you. Not ever."

 _Oh my god._ As much as her heart had broken two years ago, it felt like it was breaking all over again, but for a whole new reason this time. "So you automatically think that means I didn't love you as much as you loved me."

"Well, yeah," he replied nonchalantly.

She shook her head and grunted incredulously, blown away by this. "Unbelievable."

"What, you don't agree?"

"No, clearly I don't," she said, on the verge of tears. "I think we loved each other equally, and it's really insulting for you to say otherwise."

"Insulting?" he resounded. "It's a compliment."

"How is that a compliment?"

"Because I had so many feelings for you. 'cause it was so strong for me."

There was nothing wrong with that, but insinuating that it hadn't been as strong for her . . . that just wasn't right. "I can't believe . . ." Relinquishing what little willpower she had left, she started to cry, not heavily, but enough that she couldn't disguise it. "I mean, Tina I can see, but _you_ of all people?" Didn't he know that no one else's opinion about this even mattered to her? That she just needed him to understand? "Oh my god, how can you not know?" she cried dramatically. "How can you not know how much I loved you?"

He was quiet, clearly taken aback, and he surprised the hell out of her when he reached out for her. "Maria . . ."

"No, I'm done with this," she decided, shooting to her feet. She grabbed her purse, sniffed back the tears that just wouldn't stop, and muttered, "I'm just gonna leave. Apparently that's a really easy thing for me to do." Unable to get out of there fast enough, she practically ran, leaving him sitting alone in there, as stunned as she was but nowhere near as emotional.

She hoped he wouldn't follow her, and thankfully, he didn't.


	27. Chapter 27

Liz got into her car after a long day of work, happy to be off her feet. She put her seatbelt on and glanced in the rearview mirror at her daughter, who was curled up in her car seat, pacifier in her mouth, sleeping.

"You ready to go home, baby?" she asked, thinking that it must be nice to eat and sleep and play all day.

 _Mental note,_ she thought as she stuck the key in the ignition, _wean her off this pacifier._ As cute as it was, Scarlet was almost two years old now, and at this point, sucking on that was more of a habit for her than anything else.

Liz twisted the key, but the car sputtered and growled a bit, never quite springing to life. She pumped the brake a few times and tried again. Still nothing.

"Crap," she swore. Car problems. The last thing anyone needed.

She tried one more time just for the hell of it, but once again, no luck. Instinctively, she took out her phone to call Alex, though she doubted he'd have any more of an idea what to do than she did. After just two rings, it kicked straight on to voicemail.

 _"_ _You've reached Alex Whitman. I can't take your call right now, but-"_

She hung up and thought through her options. There was always Doug, but he wasn't the grease monkey type. And neither was Sean, who was probably too busy canoodling with this new girlfriend of his to come help her. So that pretty much left one person.

She dialed Max's number, and he picked up on the third ring. "Yeah?"

"Hey," she said. "It's me." She hated to ask, because she knew he was at the end of a long, tiring work day of his own, but she couldn't just sit there and wait for some stranger to come help her out. "I need a favor."

Thankfully for her, Max was on his way home from work and was only a few blocks away, so he was able to be there quickly. He didn't seem to mind having to stop and help her, and it was probably made better by the fact that he got to see Scarlet. She woke up a little bit when she saw him, then went right back to sleep again.

"So it just wouldn't start?" Max asked as he looked under the hood.

"No." Liz gently bounced Scarlet as she walked around outside the car, alternating between patting and rubbing her back.

"Hmm." He poked around at a few things, and she wondered if he had any idea what he was doing. Sure, Max had a blue collar job now, but he'd grown up in white collar life style. He didn't seem super mechanical. But he looked the part. Having been on the construction site all day, he had smudges of dirt on his arms and his shirt.

"Thanks again for coming," she said. "I know you probably just wanna get home."

"Well, so do you," he said, jiggling something under the hood.

"I just feel bad for calling you."

"I don't mind," he said. "You know I'll always be here."

She smiled appreciatively, happy that that was the case. Because a few years ago, it hadn't been.

...

 _"_ _Oh . . ." Liz half-cried, half-groaned as another contraction gripped her body. She felt like her insides were being twisted around and chewed up. And like her back was being cut in half. She just wanted to push already, but the nurses and doctors kept telling her she wasn't dilated enough._

 _Her mom had left the room to go get something to eat, which meant she had no hand to squeeze. And she was adamant about not having her dad in there with her. As much as she loved him, it would just be too weird for her to push out a baby with him standing next to her. She was about to call him in, though, because this whole suffering through a contraction alone thing just wasn't going to work._

 _Alex was out there, too. She could always call him._

 _As the contraction subsided and sweet, beautiful relief set in again, she found herself crying. Not because of the pain, and not because she was scared of what it would feel like when it came time to push. No, she was crying because . . . because she was alone in this. Really, as much as Alex would be there for her and her parents would be there for her, she was going to have to do this alone. A single parent. A single mother. All by herself._

 _She reached over to the bedside tray and picked up her phone, mentally debating whether or not she should call Max. She found his name on her contact list, and she wanted to reach out to him, no doubt about that. She just wanted to let him know that it was all happening, that he was about to be a father again. But they hadn't spoken since he'd left Roswell, and he'd been such a mess back then. What if he was still a mess now? Maybe she was better off on her own._

 _Squeezing the phone, she shut her eyes and continued to cry, figuring she had the right to cry all she wanted to today. But suddenly, there was a knock on the door that alerted her. When her eyes snapped open, she almost couldn't believe what she saw._

 _"_ _Max," she gasped, wondering if she was seeing things. He was like a mirage. There was no way he was really there._

 _He was, though. He came into the room with balloons and flowers and set them down on the table. "Hey," he said, coming towards her hospital bed. "How you holdin' up?"_

 _"_ _Not so good," she admitted. "It's really painful."_

 _"_ _Just think of the end result," he told her. "I hear we're gonna have a daughter."_

 _She smiled tearfully. "Who told you?"_

 _"_ _Your mom. She called my mom, and my mom called me, told me it was happening today."_

 _"_ _Well, the doctor said it might not happen until tonight," she cautioned. "Or maybe even tomorrow. I'm gonna have a long labor."_

 _He pulled a chair up beside her bed and reached out to hold her hand. "I'll be here," he promised._

 _She studied him curiously, wondering where he had been, what he had done while he was gone. He clearly wasn't the same lost boy he'd been when she'd last seen and spoken to him. "Are you done doing drugs?" she asked. She couldn't be around someone who was an addict; she couldn't let her child be around that._

 _"_ _I'm clean," he promised. "I went and got help, like I said I would. I'm doin' better now."_

 _She breathed a sigh of relief, gently squeezing his hand. "Thank God." She wasn't under any false pretense that they would get back together or anything, but if he could be a good guy and be a good father, then that was what she wanted. "I'm so glad you're here," she confessed._

 _"_ _Well, I missed out on this with Dylan," he said. "I'm not gonna miss out on this with . . ." He trailed off and scratched the side of his head. "Do you know what you're gonna name her?"_

 _"_ _I haven't decided," she said. "I really like Hannah and Emma and Scarlet."_

 _"_ _Scarlet," he pinpointed immediately. "I like that one."_

 _"_ _Scarlet," she echoed, testing out the full sound of it. "Scarlet Parker."_

 _He smiled, seeming to take no offense that she didn't intend to use his last name. Of course she couldn't, not after he'd just reappeared after months of absence._

 _But it was still comforting that he was here._

...

Max jiggled something else around, pulled on something, then shut the hood. "I'm gonna try it," he announced, getting behind the wheel. With one leg hanging out the door, he stuck the key in, turned it, and . . . the car roared to life!

"Oh my god!" Liz exclaimed. "You fixed it!"

"Look at that," he said. "I'm a mechanic."

She laughed, and much like the car, so too did Scarlet start to come to life on her shoulder. She reached her pudgy little arms out for her dad, and Liz handed her over to him.

"You hear that? Daddy's mechanical," Max said, bouncing her up and down on his knee. "Yes, he is."

Liz quickly whipped out her cell phone and took a picture. Just in case something happened and Max _wasn't_ around someday, whether he slipped back into old habits or he and Maria just moved somewhere else, she wanted to make sure Scarlet had lots of photos so she always knew how much her daddy loved her.

...

Michael had to drag himself through work that afternoon. Luckily there wasn't football practice, because he couldn't muster up any energy or enthusiasm. Not today. Not after . . .

"Hey," Sarah greeted cheerily when he walked in the door. "How'd your test go?"

Test? He'd had a test today? Oh, yeah. He wasn't even thinking about it now. "It was fine."

"Think you aced it?"

"Oh, yeah." He wasn't trying to sound cocky, but . . . hell, he was confident.

"Of course, of course," she said. "Okay, what do you want for dinner? Cajun chicken pasta or chicken alfredo?" She held up a jar of alfredo sauce in one hand and a packet of Cajun seasoning mix in the other. "We have to get rid of this chicken one way or another."

"Either one's fine," he said, setting his jacket on the back of one of the chairs.

"Hmm . . . chicken alfredo," she decided. "Easier to make. You wanna cook it with me?"

He sauntered towards her, trying his best to looked sexy as he promised, "Oh, we're gonna get cookin'."

"God, you can turn, like, _everything_ into something sexual."

He shrugged unabashedly. "It's a gift."

"I guess." She turned on the right front burner to high, reached under the oven to take out a big two-handled pot, and brought it over to the sink to fill it up with water. "So are you gonna help?" she asked.

"Yeah, if you want." He wasn't sure how much help he'd be, but he could do simple stuff, like stirring.

She cast a curious glance at him over her shoulder, and when she had the pot all filled and brought it back to the stove to set it down on the burner, she knowingly asked, "What's wrong?"

By now, he knew he could tell her what had happened today without her getting mad, but he still didn't want to. "Nothin'," he muttered. No need to burden her with his problems.

"Well, when you say it like that, it really sounds like something."

He sighed, resigned to telling her about what had happened. He wasn't doing a good job of hiding it, and she wouldn't give up until she knew. "I think I was a jackass today," he admitted, wishing he could go back in time and say a few things differently. Or maybe just not say them at all.

"To who?" she questioned.

"Maria." He waited a moment, gauging her reaction. There really wasn't one. "If you don't wanna hear about it . . ."

"No, I do," she said. "What happened?"

He shrugged, downplaying it. "I just said some stuff."

"Such as?"

"Well . . ." If he just got right down to it, she'd wonder why the hell they'd been talking about their relationship in the first place. So he figured he'd give her the full, but abridged, story. "She went to see Tina yesterday," he explained. "I asked her to talk to her about what it's like to be such a young mom, 'cause I just thought it'd be good for her to hear from someone who's been through it, you know?"

"Right."

"I mean, she's not listenin' to me or my mom."

"Right, she's being stubborn," Sarah agreed.

"Yeah. But apparently Tina wasn't too receptive to that, and she ended up chewing Maria out."

Sarah cringed. "Oh, no."

"Yeah, I guess she was sayin' all this stuff about Maria and how she never really . . . loved me."

Sarah reached out to touch his arm, as if to comfort him. "Well, that's not true."

"I know it's not, and I told Maria that. But then I kinda . . . said something I shouldn't have."

"What?"

For some reason, when he thought it over now, it sounded a lot harsher than he'd intended it to. "I said it was obvious that, back when we were together, I loved her more than she loved me."

Sarah gave him a look of disbelief and removed her hand from his arm. "You said that?"

"Well, it's true. She broke up with me."

"That doesn't mean anything," she argued.

"Yes, it does. Why am I the only one who sees it that way?"

"Michael . . ." She paused for a moment, only long enough to tear open the fettucine box and dump the noodles into the now boiling water. "Don't you get it? You hurt her feelings. I'm sure she must've been upset."

"Yeah, she left cryin'," he told her.

"Well, I can see why. That was such a mean thing to say."

He wrinkled his forehead in confusion, still not seeing how he'd been wrong to say it, though. Sometimes the truth hurt.

"You totally discredited her feelings and offended her," Sarah said.

"I didn't mean for it to come off like that. I thought I was just stating a fact."

"Oh, Michael . . ." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but you're so wrong."

"Why? It's just my opinion."

"Okay, tell me this: Why did Maria break up with you and leave Roswell?" Sarah blatantly asked. "Was it because of everything that happened with you and Max and Dylan?"

He shifted uncomfortably, thinking back. "Partially."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there was other stuff along the way," he mumbled, "but that was like the catalyst."

She looked at him expectantly, silently urging him to continue. But he didn't want to. Talking about the guy he used to be wasn't always fun for him. That was why he stuck to the simple things like Snowball king.

"She always worried about me," he told his girlfriend, knowing that she was probably very happy that he was finally opening up about something. "Because she thought I wasn't ready, and everyone was tellin' her I wasn't ready. And maybe I really _wasn't_ ready, but . . . I don't know. She didn't wanna hold me back in life."

And of course Sarah, insightful girl that she was, then posed the obvious but difficult question. "Do you think she would've?"

He'd thought about that a lot over the years, and honestly . . . his opinion had changed. "No," he said. "Not on purpose." Truth was, back in high school, he'd never really given a whole lot of thought to the future. He'd been the type to live for the day, for the moment, and just do whatever he was feeling without thinking about the consequences. Those traits didn't really fly in the real world.

"Why do you think she felt like she was holding you back?" Sarah quietly asked.

"Well, I mean, I _was_ gonna hold off on college when I was with her," he acknowledged, " 'cause money was gonna be pretty tight. And I had it in my head that I'd just go out and find some manual labor type of job and work for a year or two." When he thought about it now, it sounded awful. It sounded like something he _didn't_ want to do, because he loved college, and he loved what he was doing there. "I mean, I don't know if I'd be doin' _quite_ this well if I was still with her, I guess."

"So, let me get this straight," Sarah said as she stirred the noodles beside her. "She left you . . . _for_ you."

Yeah. She had. He couldn't dispute that.

"Sounds like she loved you a lot to me."

"You think?" The fact that Sarah, who was the smartest and most mature person he knew, was taking Maria's side on this made him second-guess himself, made him consider the possibility that maybe he really was wrong.

"Yeah," she said. "I mean, I can't imagine how much strength it takes to do something like that, to make that kind of sacrifice. If someone told me I had to leave you, even if I _knew_ it was in your best interest . . ." She trailed off and shook her head, looking sad at the mere thought of it. "Michael, it would be the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

He took in and let out a heavy breath, starting to grasp the full range of what an ass he'd been today. His opinion on the whole thing probably was wrong. He hadn't been able to understand that before, but as usual, Sarah found a way to explain it so that he could understand. "So what do I do now?" he asked her.

"Apologize," she answered simply. "That's really all you can do."

He nodded and said, "Yeah, you're right," but he wasn't sure an apology would be enough for Maria. He'd _really_ hurt her feelings today, and there was no guarantee that she'd get over it.

 _Quit thinkin' about Maria,_ he told himself. He had to focus on other things, too, like the beautiful, insightful girl who was making him dinner tonight. "Hey, speaking of love . . ." he drawled, putting his arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

"I know," she said. "You love me."

He really did. Bending his head down, he kissed her, hoping she never forgot that.

...

When Maria got home, Max wasn't exactly . . . affectionate. Clearly he was still a little perturbed at her for lying to him about her whereabouts yesterday, which she understood and couldn't really blame him for. It created an awkwardness that Maria wasn't quite used to, though, as he and Dylan spent the majority of the evening in Dylan's room, doing homework and then playing a little, while she tried to make spaghetti for dinner. Spaghetti. Such a simple thing, yet somehow, all the noodles ended up getting stuck to the bottom of the pan.

Just when she was beginning to think that her day couldn't get any worse, the doorbell rang, and when she opened it, Isabel was standing on the other side.

"Oh, great," she muttered, fighting the urge not to just slam the door in her face.

"Nice to see you, too, Maria," Isabel greeted sarcastically. "You look awful."

"Thanks." That was just what everyone longed to hear after an especially crappy twenty-four hours. She noticed a foil-covered casserole dish in Isabel's hands, and immediately she feared the worst. "Please don't tell me that's food."

Isabel beamed. "Lasagna. I made it myself. I figured it was time to have a family dinner."

"We're _not_ a family, Isabel," Maria adamantly reminded her.

"Max and I are." Isabel frowned and tried to peek inside. "Where is he anyway?"

"He's in the shower," Maria lied.

"So what aren't you in there with him? I thought you two were supposed to be a couple again."

What the hell was she even getting at? Her train of thought had become so twisted at this point. "Couples don't have to shower together all the time."

"Jesse and I do."

"Well, you and Jesse are a very _special_ couple. Goodbye, Isabel." Maria shut the door right in the other girl's face, not even feeling the slightest bit bad about it. Not after the day she'd had.

...

Even though they still had a lot of drills left to run, Michael decided to call it quits on practice when he saw cars pulling up out by the field. These parents were impatient, and the kids could only focus on one thing for a short amount of time. Practice didn't need to be any longer.

"Alright, guys, well, it looks like your parents are here," he said, ushering them into the huddle. "Good practice, guys. You're gettin' a lot better." They had a game on Saturday that would probably be disastrous, but it would be a little less disastrous than the last one apparently had been.

"Can we go?" Charlie asked. He was the one kid in the bunch who had the worst attitude.

"Before you go, Coach Kyle has something for you," Michael told them. "Kyle?"

Kyle wheeled himself further into the huddle, balancing a large box on his lap, and the boys made room for him. "Anybody who's part of this Bulldogs team has to look the part," he said, "so with that in mind . . ." He reached into the box and pulled out a small green t-shirt with the bulldogs logo on the front.

"Cool!" the kids exclaimed. There was a lot of "Whoa!" too.

"Grab a shirt on the way out," Kyle instructed them. "Good job, guys."

They practically mauled Kyle, each one of them more eager than the next to get their hands on their official Bulldogs shirt.

"Hey, what do you say?" Michael reminded them.

They all praised, "Thank you!" at once.

Once they all had their shirts, most of them scattered off to their parents' cars, but Dylan and Luke stayed behind, begging Kyle to help them more with their pass plays.

Michael headed off the field and met up with Tess on the track. He wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there, but she had to have been there long enough to see Kyle hand out the shirts. "So what do you think of that?" he asked, motioning towards her fiancé, who was now politely trying to tell Dylan and Luke that it was time to go home.

"I caught the tail-end of practice," she said. "He looks like he's having a good time."

"He is." It was encouraging to see some spark in friend's eyes again, even if it was only temporary. "So are you gonna tell him?"

Tess nodded nervously. "Mmm-hmm."

"When, like tonight?"

"No."

"Tomorrow night?"

"Sometime this week," she decided. "How about that?"

"Well, you'd better tell him soon," he advised. He could only keep a lid on this secret for so long.

"Why? Am I showing?" she fretted dramatically, touching her stomach.

"Oh, yeah."

She gasped, looking down at her body.

"I'm kidding," he assured her.

"Shut up," she snapped, giving him a playful whack on the shoulder. "God, you're an ass."

He snickered, looking forward to how much hell he could give her when she started to gain weight and waddle around. He really couldn't do that with Tina, and when it happened for Sarah someday, he wouldn't be able to do that with her, either, because he'd have to live with her. But he could tease the hell out of Tess and get away with it.

"Well, we have to meet Sarah for physical therapy," she said as Kyle started to wheel himself away from the field, "so I have to take him."

"Okay. See you later."

"Bye, Coach Kyle!" Dylan and Luke called.

"Bye, guys," Kyle said, stopping to give Michael a fist-bump as he left. "See ya, man."

"See ya." Michael hung back with the boys as other cars started to drive away. But one of them had just pulled up, and that one car was driven by Maria.

 _Thank God,_ he thought. He'd really been banking on her being the one to pick Dylan up and not Max. Now maybe he could get some stuff off his chest.

She got out of the car, tipped her sunglasses back on her head, and called, "Alright, Dylan, let's go," all the while paying no attention to Michael. "Luke, are we givin' you a ride home, too?"

"Yeah," Luke replied. "Bye, Coach."

"Bye, Micho," Dylan said as they walked past.

"Bye, guys." He watched them going, wondering if that was what he and Kyle used to look like. The quarterback and the receiver, even at a young age.

 _How am I gonna do this?_ he thought. He didn't want Maria to leave, but she was just standing at the car, ready to go. If he didn't say something, she'd take off, and he'd have to wait until tomorrow to clear his conscience. Waiting one day had been hard enough; he didn't want to wait for another one.

"Hey, Maria," he called just as the boys were climbing in the back seat. "Can I talk to you?"

She looked reluctant, but at least she didn't just ignore him. She stood there holding the door open for Dylan and his friend, even when they had already both gotten in, and then she motioned for them to hop back out. "Why don't you guys go play around a little more before we leave?" she suggested.

"Really?" The boys didn't need to be told twice. The scampered back out of the car and ran back to the field. Luke immediately picked up the football again and said, "Dylan, catch it!" He launched it into the air, and Dylan ran as fast as his little legs would carry him. It was a little over-thrown, so he didn't really have a shot at it. But he lunged anyway and laughed as he picked himself up off the grass.

 _Exactly like me and Kyle,_ Michael thought. They used to stay late after football all the time when they'd been young like this.

Maria slowly came to meet up with him on the track, her arms wrapped around herself, her expression a deflated one. "You don't have to apologize," she mumbled right away.

"What?" Sure he did. Even if Sarah hadn't opened up his eyes to how wrong he'd been, he still would have felt bad for making Maria cry.

"You're entitled to your own opinion," she said dryly, almost as if she'd rehearsed this. "It's fine. We don't have to agree."

"No, we don't." And there were plenty of things they'd never agree on—namely, Max. "But I was wrong when I said that. And I _am_ sorry."

She looked like she was trying to force a smile, but it didn't materialize. "Thanks."

"It's just . . ." He sensed she wasn't really believing him, or understanding just how bad he felt about yesterday, so he kept going. "We all know I'm not the most emotionally mature guy. So sometimes it's really hard for me to see things from someone else's perspective."

"That's fine," she reiterated. "I don't expect you to understand where I was coming from. Apparently no one does, so . . ."

She sounded so defeated. God, he hated knowing he'd been the one to make her feel that way. "Maria . . ."

"Look, whatever. It doesn't matter. I don't even care anymore," she said, dismissing the whole issue as she stuffed her hands in her pockets and tried to turn and walk away.

"Hey, would you listen to me?" he said, grabbing her arm gently to pull her back. She looked down at his hand curiously, and he quickly moved it away, taking a step back. "I'm trying to say something here."

She looked at him expectantly, impatiently, and in that moment, he started to panic. Because he had no idea how to say what he wanted to. What he needed to.

 _Come on, don't freeze up,_ he coached himself. He wasn't going to stand there like an idiot. No way. He had her attention, so he had to do something with it.

"When you left town," he started in, "I was pissed. And . . . devastated." He hated how dramatic that sounded, but hell, it was true. " 'cause I felt like you were giving up on us."

He noticed her tense, and subtly, she shook her head.

"That was just . . . how I saw things back then," he said. "I couldn't see it any other way. But as time wore on, I started to understand why you did what you did. You had reasons, and as much as I hate to admit it . . ." He gulped, acknowledging a hard truth, one he had never wanted to own up to. "They were probably valid. It's sort of a bitter pill to swallow, but . . . even though I'd made a lot of improvements by that point, I still had a long way to go. So I still could've ended up like my dad." Just picturing that man, let alone thinking that he could have ended up like him, made Michael's blood boil. "And I know you didn't want that for me, and I sure as hell didn't want it for myself."

Her face had started to soften. She still looked . . . skeptical, in a way, but he could tell that she was listening to every single word he said, taking it in, absorbing it.

"But I wanted you," he said, allowing himself to remember just for a second how strong that desire had been, how all-consuming. "So I just didn't care about the risk."

She breathed in sharply, and her face softened even more.

"But you left," he said. "You left so that I could go to college and figure out what I wanna do with my life and make something of myself. And I did." He wasn't done by any means; clearly it was still an ongoing process. But it was one that he felt optimistic about, excited. "I've done all that, and I have all that, and more," he said, thinking of Sarah and her unwavering, unconditional support. "I probably have way more than I deserve. And that's because of you."

She blinked as tears entered into her eyes.

"You loved me enough to let me go," he realized. "I didn't get that before, but I do now. So I guess what I'm trying to say is . . ." He searched his brain for the right sentiment, and it came easily this time. "Thank you." It felt surprisingly good to get that out. "And I'm sorry for not sayin' it sooner."

Her lips parted slightly, and she just stared at him, managing to keep those tears of hers inside. But he could see so much relief on her face, like this was all she'd been wanting to hear for the past two years.

"That's it," he said, "so . . ." He flapped his arms against his sides, hoping it was enough. He didn't want her to be feeling sad about this anymore.

She breathed a loud sigh, but it wasn't a defeated one this time. "Dylan, Luke, we're gonna leave now," she told the boys.

"Do we have to?" Dylan complained, but he obediently put down the football and started sulking towards the track.

Turning back to Michael, Maria whispered a quiet "Thank you," of her own. He almost felt like he shouldn't even accept it, because after being a total jackass, he didn't deserve any gratitude. But maybe—just _maybe_ —he'd made up for it now, by reconsidering his own viewpoint, by admitting that he was wrong.

"Bye, Coach," Luke once again said on his way to the car. But this time, instead of saying goodbye, Dylan grabbed onto his legs and hugged him. It surprised him. And delighted him. He messed up the little guy's hair, the way he always used to do, and sent him on his way.

The whole interaction didn't go unnoticed. Maria saw it. And slowly, hesitantly, it made her smile.


	28. Chapter 28

When the sun went down and Leanna still wasn't home, Alex started to get a bit concerned. He rarely ever made it home before his wife, and whenever he did, she usually called to tell him where she was.

He sat down on the couch with his computer, working on a research paper for one of his own classes, but he couldn't focus. So he called his wife. It took her quite a few rings to pick up, and when she did, all she said was, "Hey."

"Hey." At least he knew she was okay and wasn't in some ditch somewhere. "Where are you?"

"Oh, a couple girls from Zumba wanted to get some drinks, and they invited me along," she answered. "So I'm out with them."

"Oh." That sounded like it could go a while. "Gonna be a late night?"

"I think so," she said. "Don't wait up for me."

This wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Now he could focus and get this paper done. Sometimes, her nagging made it hard to be productive. "Alright, well, have fun."

"Oh, I will," she said. "Bye."

"Bye-" The word was barely out of his mouth, and she'd already hung up. _Oh, well,_ he thought, setting his phone aside. As bad as it sounded, he was sort of looking forward to a night by himself and the peace and quiet that would go along with it.

...

Tess came out of the bathroom slowly, feeling like she would throw up again if she even so much as started to walk too fast. She held one hand to her queasy stomach and accidentally bumped into Kristin, who was standing right outside the door.

"Hey, Tess, are you bulimic?" her fellow coach asked.

Tess stared at her in disbelief. "What?" Who on earth would ask somebody that?

"I've heard you throwing up a lot this week. And you're small, but not like anorexic small. More like the kind of small where you'd be fat if you didn't throw up so much."

Tess grunted and shook her head, astonished. "You are such a bitch." This was pretty classless, even of Kristin. And what the hell was she doing harassing her about this anyway? Wasn't she supposed to be the head coach? Shouldn't she be out on the floor with the girls actually coaching instead of having her equally bitchy sidekick yell at them?

"I'm not saying it as a criticism," Kristen continue on in what was in fact a _very_ critical tone. "Actually, maybe you could give Stephanie some pointers. She needs to lose a few pounds before my wedding."

Tess felt her stomach lurch, but she quelled the nausea as best she could, because she didn't want Kristin to get wise to the _real_ reason why she was vomiting. "Do you even hear yourself? You are seriously one of the worst people I've ever met in my entire life."

"Oh, honey . . ." Kristin looked at her as if she were an insignificant insect. "Don't be jealous."

"What is there to be jealous of?" Tess shot back.

Kristin grinned smugly. "Well, for starters, how about the fact that my fiancé actually _wants_ to marry me?"

As much as Tess wanted to spew out some snappy comeback . . . that got to her. And Kristin knew it would get to her; that was why she'd said it.

Because she didn't have anything witty or insulting to say in return, she moved past Kristin, figuring she'd pass it off as being a bigger, better person, and headed back out to the tumbling mat to try to rescue these poor young cheerleaders from Stephanie's tyranny.

...

 _Where the hell's Maria?_ Michael was getting impatient. He wasn't about to sit through Music Appreciation if he didn't have to.

"If you do decide to take Music Appreciation 2," the professor was saying, "counterculture influence is certainly something we'll elaborate on in that class."

Thankfully, right as Michael was about to fall asleep, Maria walked in late. He perked up a bit.

"But to understand the music of any decade," the professor went on, "you must understand the music that preceded it, grasp its influence. And with that in mind . . ." He clicked on a Youtube video, and Elvis Presley's drowsy "Love Me Tender" began to play.

Maria inconspicuously sat down beside him. The professor's eyes were closed as he got lost in the music, the way he often did, so he probably didn't even notice that she was late.

"I grabbed your test for you," Michael told her, handing it to her. The front page was just a cover page, so he didn't know the grade. And even though he'd been tempted to peek at what it was, he hadn't.

"Oh, I don't even wanna look," she groaned, taking it from him. She peeled back the first page, and her entire body just slumped. So apparently it wasn't so good. "What'd you get?" she asked.

 _Oh, you don't wanna know,_ he thought, showing her the ninety-eight percent on his own test.

"Oh my god," she muttered. "Seriously?"

He smirked, snickering quietly.

"I can't even look at you right now," she grumbled. "I wanna rip your face off and throw it in the river."

"Whoa." That was quite the colorful insult. "Graphic."

She rolled her eyes, but the slightest beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

The song droned on, and Maria eventually forgot about her test, sat back in her chair, and relaxed a bit. Unlike him, she actually seemed to appreciate this song.

"Ugh, the fifties," he complained.

"What's wrong with the fifties?" she challenged.

"It's all poodle skirts and chastity. No thanks." At least during the sixties, shit got interesting.

"My grandpa always used to say it was a simpler time," she recollected.

"Simple's boring." If she hadn't shown up, this song would have put him to sleep.

Mercifully, the class actually ended ten minutes early that day, which meant that Michael had an additional ten minutes to un-hear everything he'd just been forced to listen to. He'd never understood why people called Elvis the king. Kurt Cobain . . . now that was the king right there.

Even though they didn't have any test to study for today, he and Maria didn't part ways when they left the class. He wasn't sure whether he was walking with her or she was walking with him, or maybe if they were just walking with each other. But he had no real destination in mind.

"So are we good then?" he bravely asked her. They could talk about music and the fifties and shit until the cows came home, and then they could talk about the cows; but none of that mattered to him. Making sure that he hadn't irreparably damaged their fragile friendship did.

Much to his relief, she replied, "Yeah. I really appreciate everything you said yesterday, too. It made me feel a lot better."

"Well . . ." He didn't want to be a sap or anything, but he wanted her to know he'd been telling the truth. "I meant every word."

"I know you did," she said, her eyes drifting away from the sidewalks and over to the grass. "Who is that?"

He looked over his shoulder and saw Fly coming in his direction, Frisbee in hand. "Oh, that's my friend Fly," he told her.

" _Fly_?" she echoed curiously.

"Yeah, we play Frisbee a lot. He gets really into it; he's like a dog."

"In more ways than one," she said. "He's giving me the eye."

"Don't worry. I'll protect you," he promised humorously. "No, he's harmless. Come on."

Of course, though, she was reluctant. "I don't know . . ."

"Come on, it's fun." He headed out onto the grass and gave Fly a Pistol Pete greeting by mimicking guns with both hands. Fly did the same to him.

"Yo, chico, who's this?" he eagerly asked, eyeballing Maria. "She looks way better than you."

"Yeah, no shit. Fly, this is Maria," Michael introduced. "Maria, Fly."

"Hi," Maria said.

"How you doin', sweetheart?" He held out his hand.

"Oh." She reluctantly shook it. "I'm good. How about you?"

"Better now." He grinned, but thankfully, he didn't push the flirting with her—maybe he sensed that she was off-limits—and returned his attention to Michael instead. "We playin', man?"

"Sure." Michael set his backpack down and took the Frisbee from him. Fly immediately trotted off in the direction he had come.

"I almost didn't wanna shake his hand," Maria admitted. "I don't know where it's been."

"His crotch, mostly," Michael replied.

She gave him a horrified look.

He chuckled. "Relax, he's a good guy. He's just kinda . . . horny."

"Like all guys."

"He's, like, what I would be if I didn't get laid so much."

"Oh, okay, that's . . . interesting." She brushed her hair out of her eyes, looking a bit frazzled suddenly as she declared, "I should go."

"No, stay," he said. "Chill out for a while." This was what college kids were supposed to do: waste time doing meaningless activities. He didn't do nearly enough time-wasting himself.

"I can't chill out. I have . . . stuff to do today," she said, but her voice was quiet, unconvincing, and she wasn't walking away.

"Hey, Fly!" Michael yelled once his friend had put sufficient distance between them. "Try to catch this for once!"

"Throw it straight, mothafucka!" Fly shot back.

Michael launched it, straight, perfect path, catchable for anyone who had any amount of coordination at all in their body. But Fly, of course, could be counted upon to trip over his own feet as he was backing up for it and fall instead. "Damn!" he shouted, slamming his fist against the ground. He picked himself back up, though, and went to retrieve it.

"How'd you come across this guy?" Maria asked, reluctantly setting her purse down next to his backpack.

"Ah, he and Monk and Steve were in my freshman year history class," he said. "We all bonded over our shared love of _Braveheart._ "

"Are they nicer than the guys you hung out with in high school?" she asked.

"Everyone's nicer than the guys I hung out with in high school."

"True."

"Hey, Fly!" he called. "Throw it to Maria."

"No, I can't catch," she said.

"That's okay, he can't throw." As if to prove his point, Fly tried to toss it back, but it landed almost ten feet short of Maria, and she didn't reach for it. "See?"

"Now I have to throw it back?"

He nodded.

"This isn't gonna be pretty," she said, walking forward to retrieve it. When she bent down, her shirt inched up in the back, and her jeans moved down a bit, and he couldn't help but notice . . .

 _MG._ Right where he remembered it.

She let out a little grunt as she tried to throw it back to Fly. It actually wasn't that bad of throw, and Fly came close to catching it, but it just didn't get enough air. "I suck," she said as she walked back to him.

He wanted to say something—something about Fly or Frisbee—something that didn't really matter. But if that was all he could talk about, then he felt speechless.

"You still have your tattoo," he noted quietly, trying not to sound as surprised as he really was.

Immediately, she reached behind her back and pulled her shirt down. "Yeah," she said, attempting a casual, nonchalant smile. But it didn't really fully form, and she ended up seeming more alarmed than anything that he'd seen it. She averted her eyes.

He looked away, too, trying to concentrate on . . . what the hell was he supposed to be doing? Frisbee? Chilling out? It kind of seemed pointless now.

...

When Saturday rolled around, it was game day, time for the Pound Elementary Bulldogs to face off in an away game against the Cardinals of Artesia. There were only four teams in this county-wide youth football program, and each played each other once before facing off next week in the championship game. The Bulldogs were still looking for their first win, while the Cardinals hadn't yet suffered a loss.

"This isn't gonna be pretty," Michael predicted as he watched the kids warm-up on the field. Most of them were taking it pretty seriously, but a few were screwing around. All it took was for Michael to give them one stern look, and then they started stretching.

Beside him, Kyle was more optimistic. "I don't know, they might surprise you," he said. "Luke's pretty good; he's got a strong arm for a little kid. And Dylan . . . well, he had a good coach at a young age."

Michael watched as the two of them switched from stretching to jumping jacks, and then the other boys switched, too. Dylan and Luke were definitely the leaders of the team. "Yeah," he said, "But the rest of 'em can't do shit."

"Hey, you and I almost made it to state with a team that couldn't do shit," Kyle pointed out.

"True." Had it not been for Kyle and him, the Comets probably wouldn't have won any games that year.

"Besides, they're in elementary school," Kyle reminded him. "All that matters is that they have fun."

"Wow, you definitely _don't_ sound like your dad right now."

"Yeah." Kyle sighed heavily, a reminiscent look coming over his face for a moment. "I remember when he used to put so much pressure on me. Do you remember that? Even back when we were kids."

"Yeah, but you still loved the game," Michael said.

"I loved it because I was good at it, and because I got to play it with my best friend."

"Aww, Kyle . . ." Michael bent down and gave Kyle a hug. "I love you, too, man," he said in an exaggeratedly feminine voice.

"Oh, okay," Kyle said, just sitting there instead of hugging him back. "This is weird."

"Feels good in here," Michael joked.

"You're freakin' me out."

...

As she and Tess climbed up the bleachers, Sarah eyed Michael and Kyle curiously. "What are they doing?" They were locked into some bromance embrace or something.

"Who knows?" Tess said, paying no attention. "I always said if Michael and Kyle were gonna go gay, it'd be with each other."

Sarah laughed a little, taking a seat on the top row of bleachers. She scooted over enough to make room for Tess and looked out on the field at all the little boys. They weren't all suited up yet, but they had on the green team t-shirts Kyle had designed. On the sidelines, Michael and Kyle had finally stopped groping each other now, and they were back in coach mode, eyes on their young players, watching intently while they warmed up.

"So is this what it was like back in high school?" Sarah asked. "Feeling all proud while they were on the field?"

"No, that was better," Tess said, "because Kyle wasn't in a wheelchair, I was a cheerleader, and I wasn't pregnant."

"Hmm." Sarah glanced down at her best friend's stomach, noting the jacket. It was warm out for November, so the jacket was probably something Tess had self-consciously worn to cover up a bump that wasn't even quite noticeable yet. "So are you gonna tell him about that today?" she questioned.

"Depends on how this game goes," Tess responded quickly. She, too, looked out on the field, and her eyes widened suddenly. "Oh my god. Is that . . . Dylan?"

Sarah followed her gaze. "Yep." The adorable little blonde boy appeared to be one of the kids in charge. "He's really cute."

"He's really Maria's son," Tess pointed out.

"Yeah, I know." That wasn't a big deal to her.

Tess laughed lightly and shook her head. "Oh, and you continue to handle all of this way better than I would."

"Michael loves coaching him," Sarah said.

"Well, why wouldn't he? This is the kid who used to call him _Daddy_."

"He doesn't anymore," Sarah said, not taking any of Tess's snappiness to heart. Hormones.

"You sure?" Tess questioned.

"Yeah. Michael told me he just calls him by his name now. And I think he calls Max Dad."

"Speak of the devil . . ." Tess's eyes drifted down to the bottom of the bleachers. "That's Max."

Sarah looked in the same direction, and indeed, there were both Max and Maria, each of them with a soda bottle from the concession stand in their hands. "I know," she said.

"Oh, that's right, you met him on Halloween," Tess recalled.

"And he and Maria came over for dinner," Sarah added.

"What?" Tess shrieked. "Where was I was then that happened?"

"Probably finding out you were pregnant." Sarah shrugged, understanding why Tess had been preoccupied lately.

"So you invited them over for dinner, huh?"

"Yep. Max!" she called, waving her hand high in the air to get their attention. "Maria!"

"And now you're inviting them to sit with us," Tess mumbled.

As they waved back, Sarah motioned them to come on up. The more the merrier. They could start a whole Bulldogs cheering section.

"Oh my god, Sarah, do you see who's with them?" Tess gasped, pointing out a petite brunette woman with a child in her arms.

"Who's that?" she asked.

"Liz Parker. She's the first girl Michael had an affair with. He wasn't in love with her, though."

As much as Sarah wasn't particularly thrilled with the less-than-faithful aspects of Michael's past, she wasn't going to hold it against him. Or this girl, for that matter. They were probably all very different people now. "Is there anyone in this state he hasn't slept with?" she pondered as Max, Maria, and Liz all headed up the bleacher steps.

"Me," Tess said proudly. "Although he _did_ hit on me when we first met. But I totally ignored him and went straight to Kyle."

Sarah smiled. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad."

"Yeah, it'd be hard for us to be best friends if Michael and I had ever hooked up," Tess agreed.

"Well, I don't know. Maria and I seem to be doing fine." Sarah smiled widely when they others made it to the top. "Hey!" she exclaimed.

"Hey," Maria returned, smiling a little. That smile started to look nervous, though, when she said, "Hey, Tess."

Tess didn't say anything, so Sarah subtly nudged her with her knee, eliciting a reluctant, "Hi."

"Hey, Sarah. How are you?" Max greeted.

"I'm good," she replied. "How about you guys?"

Max stuck his hands in his pockets and inhaled shakily. "Nervous for Dylan. He really wants to win today, and I think he's gonna be pretty upset if they don't."

"Oh, they're gonna win," Sarah declared confidently. With Michael and Kyle, they had the best, most knowledgeable coaches they could ever ask for. "Here, sit with us," she said, gesturing to the open bleachers below them.

"Alright, sure," Max said, giving Maria a gentle push to urge her inward. Maria scooted the farthest over, and Max sat in front of Sarah. The dark-haired girl took a seat in front of Tess, holding her . . . child? . . . on her lap.

"Oh, Sarah, this is Liz," Max introduced, "and my daughter Scarlet."

"The famous Scarlet," Sarah said, recalling how Max had raved about her at dinner. For the first time, she got a closer look at the little girl. Dark, curly hair, chocolate-brown eyes, long lashes . . . she was a stunner, even at this young age. "She's beautiful. Hi, Liz. I'm Sarah."

"Michael's girlfriend, right?" Liz said.

"Right."

"Nice to meet you."

"You, too." Sarah smiled at the cute little girl, who seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes open. When she looked at Tess again, though, Tess was giving her a weird look. "What?" she asked.

For a moment, Tess didn't say anything, but then she shook her head and warned quietly, "You're way too nice for your own good."

Sarah smiled and rolled her eyes. It wasn't the first time she'd been told that. But since being nice had always worked out for her in the past, she wasn't going to change a thing.

...

 _Tess looks different,_ Maria thought. Her hair wasn't as shiny, and her makeup wasn't as flawless. She still looked pretty, though, just . . . wearier? It was pointless to ask her what she'd been up to these past few years, because with Kyle in a wheelchair, it was pretty obvious. Besides, Maria got the sense Tess had reverted to _not_ being her biggest fan, so conversation was probably out the question.

Max talked to Liz a lot, and Sarah and Tess jabbered with each other. That left Maria feeling like she was kind of on her own there, and quite honestly, that was fine. She wouldn't mind just being able to sit and focus on the game her son was about to play in.

She scanned the field for Dylan as the boys started to scatter from their warm-ups, and she found him bouncing jubilantly towards Michael. Even from this far up in the bleachers, she could hear him ask, "Did I do good?" and then watched him beam with pride when Michael assured him that he had. What followed that exchange was some sort of secret handshake she'd never been privy to, but one she recognized from back in the day. The whole handshake ended with them both putting their arms in the air and exclaiming, "Whoa!" and that made Dylan laugh.

Maria turned her head to look at Max, wondering if he'd just watched the same thing she had. But he was talking baby-talk to Scarlet, trying to get her to stay awake as Liz bounced her up and down a bit.

Maria didn't say anything to disrupt them, deciding that maybe it was a good thing Max hadn't seen what she just had.

...

The boys circled up, each of them barely able to stand upright with the weight of his uniform, pads, and helmet. "Bulldogs on three," Michael told them, and they all put their hands in the circle. "One, two, three!"

"Bulldogs!" they yelled, and then they trotted out onto the field.

"Here we go," Michael said. "Fire it up! Good start now."

It wasn't a good start.

By rule, there was no kickoff, so each team always started on the fifty yard-line. They still had four potential downs to advance ten yards, and all the other regular rules applied, except that tackling was to be 'within reason' and 'kept to a minimum.' But Michael's team couldn't tackle. They couldn't block. They couldn't run. They couldn't do much of anything, actually. They never made any progress on offense, and on defense, they let the Cardinals score on their first possession. Great.

Trying to keep the team's spirits up, Michael did a lot of clapping his hands on the sidelines for plays that didn't really deserve applause, and offered up a lot of encouragement. "Alright, good try," he found himself saying a lot. "Keep workin'."

The only good news was that the Cardinals quarterback started to get sick around halftime, so he had to leave the field. Wasn't good news for that kid or his parents, of course, but it was good news for the Bulldogs. Neither team could score after that, so the score remained 6-0.

At halftime, which was only five minutes, he tried to rally the troops. "Okay, guys, I'm seein' some good things, and I'm seein' some not so good things," he said. "You guys _gotta_ remember those plays we drilled. You can't just be runnin' all over the field."

Most of them continued to run all over the field. During the third quarter, Michael could tell that it was starting to frustrate Dylan and Luke and some of the other kids who were actually there to play.

Fourth quarter rolled around, and time kept ticking down. The urgency of the situation started to set in when they got back on offense with only three minutes left. There were timeouts in youth football, but other than that, the clock kept running. If they didn't score something on this possession, they were leaving Artesia with a big goose egg.

"We gotta do somethin' about this," Kyle said. "Luke!" He motioned his young protégée over to the sideline, and Michael gave the refs a signal for a timeout.

"Yeah, Coach?" Luke said, sounding out of breath. The poor kid had really been trying.

"I want you to take that ball and run it," Kyle told him. "Tuck it in, and just sprint downfield, and get it in that end zone. You can do it."

Luke kicked at the turf with his sneakers—they weren't allowed to wear cleats at this age. "I'm scared," he mumbled.

"What're you scared of?" Kyle asked.

"Gettin' hit."

"So you get hit," Kyle said. "Then you know what happens? You get back up again. Do you know how many times I got hit when I ran the ball?"

Luke shook his head.

"Lots, man. And I'm still fine."

"You're in a wheelchair," Luke pointed out.

Kyle looked dumbfounded for a second, almost as if . . . he'd forgotten about that. "Yeah," he said, "but I was never as good as you."

Slowly, Luke smiled.

"Run the ball," Kyle told him again. "You got this."

Luke nodded affirmatively, then darted back out onto the field.

"That was good," Michael told his friend.

Kyle shrugged. "Just coaching."

That wasn't why it was good, though. He couldn't tell Kyle that he'd just motivated that kid like a dad would. Couldn't arouse any suspicions.

When the timeout ended, the boys got lined up again. "Set!" Luke yelled. "Hike!" Charlie snapped the ball back to him, and just as Kyle had told him to do, he took off. Past defenders. Past the other team's forty yard-line. Past the thirty. Suddenly, there was only open field ahead of him.

"Go, go!" Michael shouted right as the miniscule crowd started to come alive and cheer him on, too.

Arms pumping at his sides, legs working as fast as they could, Luke ran that ball into the end zone, and the ref on the sideline immediately raised both arms up to signal a touchdown.

"Yeah!" Michael exclaimed, jumping up and down and doing a celebratory first-pump. "Good job, Luke!" He looked beside him, and much to his surprise, Kyle had gotten to his feet, too. And even after the excitement died down, he didn't take a seat again.

With time still left on the clock, it came down to the defense having to hold up. And miraculously, they did. When the clock hit zero, the score was tied, six to six.

"What do we do now?" Kyle asked eagerly. "Do they do overtime?"

Michael wasn't sure, so he jogged over to the refs to ask them what was up. Overtime, they confirmed. Just like in college football, each team would get the ball and have a chance to score more points. They would start at the twenty yard line this time to make it easier. If the score was still tied after three overtime periods, then the game would come to an end.

They did a coin toss, which the Bulldogs won, and Michael told the refs they wanted the other team to have the ball first. After he made the decision, he immediately regretted it, because the Cardinals had a nice run of their own, and they scored right away. Another touchdown, right in the first overtime period. Now Michael's team had to do the same.

He could see the defeated looks on their faces, so he made sure to assure them, "It's not over. It's not over," as they trudged back to the sideline. "You guys need to amp it up. You're still in this. They scored, so now you gotta score again. But you're gonna be really close to the goal, so you can do it."

Kyle lined up the plays for them and sent them back out on the field. The first play was another run by Luke, but he only made it a few yards this time. The next was an attempted pass to Dylan, but Luke was sacked before he could even throw it and lost a few yards. There was a brief delay in the game as the refs debated whether or not the hit had been too hard for pee-wee football, but eventually they decided that it wasn't and let the game continue.

Third down. Michael squatted, his elbows on his legs, his hands clasped in prayer position over his mouth. _Come on, guys,_ he thought. They needed this win. They needed something to boost their confidence after such a lackluster season.

"Set!" Luke yelled. "Hike!" He ran it again, and this time, he got decent yardage. They stopped him _just_ short of the first down marker, though, so it was now fourth down.

"Crap," Michael swore. If they didn't convert this time, it was all over. "Okay, timeout!"

The ref blew his whistle, and both teams trotted off to their respective sidelines.

"Did we lose yet?" Charlie asked morosely.

"No!" That kid's downer attitude wasn't going to help things. "You guys are gonna win, alright? You just gotta get a first down here."

"I say we go for broke," Kyle said, still standing. "They won't expect it. They think Luke's gonna run again, but we're not gonna do that. We're gonna throw it down to Dylan right in the end zone, get our touchdown, keep this game goin'. How's that sound?"

"Whatever," Charlie muttered at the same time Dylan and Luke exclaimed, "Yeah!"

"Bulldogs on three," Michael said again as they all put their hands in the middle. "One, two, three!"

"Bulldogs!"

Michael didn't realize how hard his heart was pounding until the kids took the field again. Maybe it was stupid to get so invested in a game that didn't _really_ matter, but then again . . . maybe it _did_ matter. He used to play in these types of games all the time, and even though he'd never been as talented as Kyle, he'd always been good. Football had given him a confidence from a very young age that otherwise he might have lacked. He wanted these boys to have that same confidence, that same belief that they could actually do something well.

"Come on now," he said, saying a silent prayer to himself. He looked at Dylan, gauging the determination on his face. He reminded him so much of himself, it was eerie.

"Set!" Luke called. "Hike!"

A perfect snap. An offensive line that was actually holding up. Luke had time to sit back in the pocket and line up his throw, and he wisely wasn't rushing it. Dylan, meanwhile, sped past defenders, catching them off guard as he went straight for the end zone.

 _We've got this,_ Michael thought. _We've got this._

The ball sailed out of Luke's hands, and it was a beautiful throw, especially for a six year-old. It was better than some junior high quarterbacks could throw. They couldn't have asked for a more perfect pass. And Dylan was wide open. Michael held his breath as he jumped up into the air to catch it.

And it went right through his hands.

A huge, disappointed moan came from the parents and other Bulldogs fans in the stands, and Michael and Kyle even each let out one of their own. The Artesia boys started jumping up and down and ran to their coaches on the sidelines, immediately starting a chant of "We're number one! We're number one!"

 _Dammit,_ Michael thought. _So close._

"That's alright, guys," Kyle said as their players sulked off the field. "That happens sometimes."

"Happens to us _all_ the time," Charlie muttered.

"Good try," Michael joined in, looking back out at Dylan. He was just sitting there in the end zone, looking unbelievably disappointed with himself. He thought about going out there to check on him, but soon enough, Dylan got to his feet, took off his helmet, and lumbered towards the sideline.

 _Poor kid,_ Michael thought sympathetically. Dropping the game-winning pass, a pass you'd normally be able to catch? Yeah, he could relate to that.

...

Michael wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow, after the game, he, Sarah, Tess, and Kyle ended up going out to eat with Maria and Dylan. And Liz, who Michael hadn't seen or thought about in years, and her daughter, who, like Dylan, was way too adorable to have any genetic link to Max. Thankfully, Max couldn't join them, though, so that made the whole thing marginally more bearable.

They all agreed on a pizza place Michael had never heard of but Liz insisted was wonderful. Home-cooked pizza or something like that. Whatever. They ended up sitting on an outdoor patio in a big booth. Michael was furthest inside on one side with Sarah next to him and Tess next to her. On the other side, Maria sat furthest inward, with Dylan sandwiched between her and Liz. Liz's daughter was in a highchair next to her, and Kyle sat in his wheelchair at the end of the table. Idle conversation dominated while they waited for their food. Sarah talked a lot to Liz, apparently fascinated by the fact that she had her own bakery and that there was finally someone else to discuss cooking with.

Michael opted to just stay quiet for the most part, and halfway listen. Even though it was better without Max here, it was still pretty fucking awkward considering he'd slept with three out of the four women at the table. If only he'd been sitting by Kyle. Then they could talk about guy stuff while the girls blabbered.

Dylan, too, was quiet. His menu had come with a picture of a monster to color and mazes and word searches on the back, so he was occupied with that. He colored well, in the lines for the most part. Not surprising since he used to draw pictures all the time.

"Hey, Mom?" he asked Maria quietly.

"What?" she said.

He set his orange crayon down and asked, "Where's Dad?"

Michael tensed. _Dad._

"He had to go to work," Maria told him, "but he'll be home tonight."

Dylan nodded mutely and picked up a blue crayon to color the monster's head.

Maria cast Michael a quick look, but he didn't maintain eye contact for long. He looked out over the patio and pretended to people watch. Anything to look distracted.

"It's a lot more work than I thought it would be," Liz was saying. "And growing up, I never thought I would enter the food industry."

"What did you wanna be?" Sarah asked.

"A scientist." Liz laughed as though that were a ridiculous notion now. "It's okay, though. I love what I do."

"Mmm." Sarah took a drink of her lemon water and declared, "If I wasn't gonna be a pharmacist, I'd be a chef."

"And a damn good one," Tess added. "Seriously, her food's amazing."

"It is really good," Kyle agreed.

 _Shit, all this talk of food's making me hungry,_ Michael thought as his stomach growled.

They continued talking, and Michael felt a kick beneath the table. He gave Maria a questioning look, and she mouthed, _'Talk to him,'_ motioning with her head towards Dylan.

He nodded, understanding what she was asking of him. Dylan, who was normally talkative, was quiet and down in the dumps, upset about the loss. It was his job to help him feel better, his responsibility as a coach and a . . . whatever else he was to Dylan nowadays.

"Hey, Dylan," he said, "I see they got a claw machine over there. You wanna go try it out?"

Dylan looked back over his shoulder at the machine and eagerly replied, "Yeah." He started to try to climb over Liz, but Maria grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

"Be polite," she said.

"Sorry." He started climbing again, but this time he said, "Excuse me."

"You're fine," Liz said, scooting Scarlet's high chair out of the way so he could get out easier.

Sarah smiled at Michael, apparently sensing what he was doing, and he gave her a quick kiss. She and Tess both had to get up for him to get out, but they sat down and resumed their conversation easily as he and Dylan headed towards the other side of the patio.

Dylan immediately grabbed the joystick and tried to move the claw, but it was motionless. "It needs money," he deduced, pointing to the coin slot.

"I got money," Michael said, reaching into his pockets. He pulled out two quarters and handed them to Dylan. "Go for it."

Dylan dropped the quarters into the slot, and the claw machine came to life. Though he was barely tall enough to see what he was doing, he used the joystick to maneuver the claw towards the center of the case. It dropped down and landed on a stuffed panda bear, looking for a second as if it were going to pick it up. But when it closed, it slipped right through, and Dylan came back up with nothing.

"Ah, so close," Michael said, digging around for a few more coins. "Here, try again." He handed over another fifty cents, and Dylan deposited that as well. Once again, he moved the claw, but this time he moved it farther over to the right. It descended and closed over an alien this time, just like the little ones from _Toy Story._ Dylan's eyes lit up excitedly as the claw swung over to the other side of the case, but the alien slipped out at last minute. The claw opened to release its contents, but there was no prize there.

"I suck," Dylan muttered.

"No, these things are just really tricky," Michael said.

"You try," Dylan told him.

"I don't think I have any more quarters," he said, checking his back pockets, too. "Nope, nothing." He actually had two more in his front right pocket, but he was saving them until after they talked.

Dylan got that bummed out look on his face again, and his whole body slumped.

"Is everything okay?" Michael asked him. "You don't really seem like your usual self."

Dylan shrugged.

"Are you upset about something?" Michael asked. He'd taken enough classes and learned enough about kids to know that it was better to get them talking on their own.

"Just the game," Dylan muttered.

"The game, huh?" Michael fiddled around with the joystick, even though the claw machine wasn't going anymore. "You know, you played well."

"But we lost," Dylan lamented. "It's my fault."

"It's not your fault," Michael told him. "I know it may _feel_ like your fault, but it's not. You're not the only guy on the team."

"But I dropped it," he mumbled, pouting.

"Yeah, so? I've dropped it before."

"You have?" Dylan sounded surprised.

"Yeah. You remember goin' to any Comets football games?"

Dylan scrunched up his face and his lips, thinking about it for a moment. Then he shook his head.

"Yeah, you were pretty young." He'd never forget watching Dylan cry after he'd dropped that pass, though. It was such a let-down. "Well, there was this one game called the quarterfinals game. If we won that, then we would've moved onto the semi-finals, and then the state finals."

"What's that?" Dylan asked.

"It's, like, the game you play in when you're the best in the state."

His eyes widened in awe. "Whoa."

"Yeah, _whoa_ is right," Michael agreed. "We were a really good team, and everyone thought we were gonna get there. But we didn't."

"Why not?" Dylan asked.

"Well, 'cause we were in the same kind of situation you guys were in today. We had to score, or else it was over." He let the scene replay in his mind, even though he usually tried to block it out. "So Kyle's got the ball, and he drops back like Luke did today, and he passes it to me. And you know, I usually caught it. I mean, I caught it almost every single time. But I didn't catch it that night. It just went right outta my hands."

Dylan looked down at the floor, as if he were ashamed. "That's what happened to me today."

"It happens to everyone," Michael assured him. "But I remember I was so sad and so mad at myself. Do you kinda feel that same way?"

Dylan nodded sheepishly.

"Yeah? See, I get that. And it's okay to feel that way. But it's just a game, you know what I mean? It's not the end of the world."

"I guess," Dylan said.

"You know what? You've got another game next week, and I bet if Luke passes to you again, you'll catch it next time. 'cause you'll be _really_ determined."

Dylan smiled a bit. "Yeah."

"Trust me, you're a good player. I always knew you were a good player, even when we were just playin' around in the backyard. Do you remember that?"

That smile expanded. "Yeah."

"That was so fun, remember? And you didn't care if you dropped the ball back then. So don't get so upset about it now."

Dylan thought about it for a moment, the nodded. "Okay."

"Alright, good, that's what I like to hear." Michael reached into his front pocket again and pulled out the last two quarters. "What the . . . where'd these come from?"

Dylan's face lit up with excitement.

"You wanna try again?" Michael asked.

"Yeah!" Dylan exclaimed. "You do it."

"Okay." He dropped the two quarters in and prayed this claw came up with something, because that would help Dylan feel even better.

...

Maria didn't know what anyone at the table was talking about, though she admired Liz's ability to be so friendly and so engrained right away. Liz was doing a lot of talking, and Sarah was doing a lot of talking, and Tess was eating a lot of breadsticks and cooing at Scarlet.

Maria heard her son shout, "Yay!" excitedly, and when she looked over her shoulder, Michael was getting something out of the claw machine for him. An alien from _Toy Story_ that he would undoubtedly love. He handed it over to him, and Dylan thanked him and reached up to give him a hug. Michael squatted down and hugged him in return.

Maria smiled, glad that Michael had managed to lift her son's spirits. She knew he would. After all, they'd always had a special bond.


	29. Chapter 29

Michael lightly traced his hands up Sarah's spine, loving how that made her shiver, even though her skin was hot. "Ooh," she said. "That was so fun."

Beside her, he lay as naked as she was, both of them covered on by the sheet. "It was," he agreed. "You couldn't keep your hands off me."

She snuggled in closer to his side, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I couldn't help it," she said. "You were so sexy today. It really turned me on."

"I'm always sexy," he declared.

"Yeah, but today was, like, _extra_ sexy," she emphasized. "You were so in your element."

 _But my element is sex,_ he wanted to say, until he realized what _other_ element she was referring to. "Oh, you mean coaching?"

"Yeah. And just working with kids in general," she confirmed. "You're so good with all those boys on the team."

"But we lost the game," he pointed out.

"You're still good with them," she insisted. "And then when you helped Dylan get over how bad he was feeling . . ." She smiled proudly. "You were _counseling_ him."

"Well, I _am_ a counselor," he said. "Or at least I'm gonna be."

"You already are," she said, draping one of her legs over his. "Mmm." She nuzzled his chest, and he started to wonder if maybe she had another round in her tonight. He sure as hell did, so the fun times didn't have to stop until 3:00 a.m.

"Did you have a good time today?" he asked, massaging her back with the arm that was wrapped around her.

"Yeah," she said. "Liz and I got along really well."

"Hmm." He smiled tightly. "You're just buddying up to all my ex-girlfriends, aren't you?"

"Wait, Tess told me Liz wasn't an ex-girlfriend."

"Not technically."

"I know exactly who she is, and exactly what you did with her," Sarah said. "And even though I don't condone it, I'm not gonna hold it against either of you. You're both very different people now. You all are."

 _Except Max,_ he wanted to say. But he refrained.

"I think Liz likes me better than Maria does, though," Sarah went on quietly. "She talked to me more."

"Maria likes you," he assured her. "Everybody likes you. You're like a little golden retriever puppy."

Her mouth opened, and she gasped, feigning offense. "Are you comparing me to a dog?"

"Most popular dogs in the world."

She laughed. "No, I don't mean to say Maria and I aren't getting along. We are. But Liz just didn't seem quite so closed off."

"Well . . . that's just how Liz is," he told her. "She's really easy to get to know." It certainly hadn't taken long for him to get to know her, though it had taken a little longer for him to _really_ get to know her. Physically speaking.

"Yeah, Maria's a little more . . . guarded," Sarah remarked.

"Yeah," he agreed. "She's just . . ." Maria was the opposite of Liz. She _wasn't_ easy to get to know. She had walls up, and she didn't reveal a whole lot of information about herself until she was sure she could trust you. "She's never really had a whole lot of friends," he explained. "Because of her . . . circumstances, you know."

"Right."

"And when we were together, I remember her even telling me once that I was her only friend."

"Aw." Sarah frowned sadly. "That sounds lonely."

"I'm sure she is sometimes." He wanted to assure his girlfriend that it wasn't anything to do with her, though, that Maria didn't have some grudge, so he said, "She's just more reluctant to get to know people, because she's always felt like people don't really wanna get to know her."

"Well, I do," Sarah said.

"I know you do. You've been pretty clear about that."

"Then I'm gonna make her feel included," Sarah decided, lazily tracing designs on his chest. "She should know she has friends in this town."

He reached up and stroked her hair, baffled and amazed by her compassion. His girlfriend was really one of a kind. There weren't many girls who invite Maria back into their lives. But at this point . . . he was fine with it. In a way, it would always be weird, but he'd be alright with it. Because whether it was him or Sarah or someone else entirely, it made him feel good to know that Max wasn't Maria's only friend.

...

Insomnia. Great.

Maria lay on her side that night, staring at Max's back. He was snoring lightly, so that meant he was fast asleep. And why wouldn't he be? He'd had a long afternoon at work. Construction wasn't easy.

She wanted to move in closer to him, maybe spoon up behind him, because she was cold, and it felt like there was a lot of space in between them. Truth was, he'd been pretty distant for a few days, ever since she'd lied to him about going to see Tina. It wasn't exactly an icy cold shoulder he was giving her, but he just wasn't talking to her as much, and he wasn't being very affectionate.

 _I probably deserve it,_ she reminded herself, curling up tightly underneath the blankets. Her toes were freezing, but they probably wouldn't have been if she was lying closer to Max. He was a warm sleeper.

 _Maybe I'll just go out and watch some TV,_ she pondered. _Or go check on Dylan._ He'd gotten into this bad habit lately of reading comic books instead of going to bed. He snuck a flashlight in his room and everything.

In a way, it was nothing new, though. Getting Dylan to bed had never been easy.

...

" _Goodnight, sweetie," Maria cooed, bending down to press a kiss to her son's head. As she was leaving the room, though, he squeaked out, "Mom?" and stopped her._

" _What is it?" she asked, turning back around._

 _He sat up slightly, picking at the loose threads in his bedspread. She was about to tell him to just go to sleep when he asked a question that nearly bowled her over._

" _Is Max my dad?"_

 _Even though she probably should have been prepared to answer that . . . she wasn't. Max had been spending a lot of time with them lately, and he and Dylan were really hitting it off well. But still, she hadn't expected her little boy to be so perceptive._

" _Yes," she answered, deciding that her only choice was to tell him the truth. "He is."_

 _Dylan didn't say anything for a few seconds, and she could see the wheels of his mind spinning, trying to make sense of everything._

" _You can start calling him Dad," she told him, "or you can just keep calling him Max. Either one's fine." She walked back over to his bed, sitting down on the side of it, stroking his hair. "Honey, are you okay?" she asked. This was a lot for young boy to take in._

 _He looked a little confused, but okay. But for some reason, he didn't_ sound _okay when he asked, "Is Micho still my dad?"_

 _Her breath caught in her chest, and for a second, everything hurt. Worse than that, even. It ached._ She _ached._

 _Dylan didn't talk about Michael as much anymore, but whenever he did, he sounded like he missed him. And why wouldn't he? She'd never managed to give him a good explanation as to why he'd been in their lives one day, and hadn't been the next._

" _No," she finally answered, deciding to tell the truth again. "No, he's not."_

 _Dylan's face contorted into a frown, and she actually saw tears spring to his eyes. But instead of talking to her about it anymore, he flopped back down onto his side, facing away from her, pulling his covers nearly all the way up over his head._

 _She pulled them back down a bit, but she didn't say anything else. They'd talk about it more tomorrow morning. Maybe he'd feel better about things by then._

...

Maria looked at Max again, watching the steady rise and fall of his whole sleeping frame as he breathed in and out. Enviously, she shut her eyes, too, but she still didn't feel tired. And she still felt cold, so she pulled the blankets up all the way over her head.

...

"Mall Monday!" Tess exclaimed as she and Sarah entered through the sliding glass doors by the food court.

"I love Mall Monday," Sarah agreed.

"Although I don't know why I'm getting excited," Tess muttered, naturally veering towards the Mexican food station. "I can't afford to buy anything."

"Get yourself at least one new dress," Sarah encouraged her friend. If Tess found one she liked and it was too expensive, she'd be willing to cover the cost for her.

"Maybe I should just go straight to the maternity store," Tess speculated.

"Oh, please," Sarah scoffed, pulling her out of the line for the Mexican food before she could officially stand in it. "You'll probably be one of those girls who doesn't even start showing until her third trimester."

"I don't know," Tess said skeptically. "Did you see how many pieces of pizza I ate on Saturday? I was a machine."

"Okay, but you're responsible for feeding this whole other person in addition to yourself, so I'd say that's excusable."

"I guess," Tess muttered. "Ooh, speaking of pizza . . . " She started to make a beeline for Sbarro.

Sarah grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "You can at least wait until lunchtime, though."

Tess pouted and complained, "But I'm so hungry."

"You'll be hungry at lunchtime, too." Sarah heard a familiar voice call her name, and when she turned around, there was Maria. "Oh, good, she's here," she said, waving.

"Did you invite her?" Tess growled.

"Yeah."

Tess sighed agitatedly and rolled her eyes. "Of course."

Maria approached them, looking . . . unsure of herself. It seemed like, whenever Tess was around, she got really quiet. Which was understandable, Sarah supposed, because Tess had a big personality and could be pretty intimidating.

"Hey, guys," Maria greeted softly.

"Hey, you," Sarah returned. "I'm so glad you could make it. We're having Mall Monday. Just us girls." She smiled at both of them, but neither one of them could quite manage to smile back.

...

 _Why didn't I stay home?_ Maria wondered as she looked herself over in a dressing room mirror. These reflections were notoriously unflattering, and hers was no different. She was trying on a couple new pairs of jeans, and none of them looked right.

Taking them off hastily, she scrambled to think up some excuse to get her out of this little 'Mall Monday' excursion early. There was the good old standby of having errands to run. Or she could say she had a huge test to study for. Or class. Hell, _yes_. She could just say she had class.

Getting back into the jeans she owned, though, she knew she wouldn't use any of these excuses. There was something about Sarah that made it hard to say no when she invited you to do something. She was just so damn nice.

Tess, on the other hand, wasn't even pretending to be nice, though. She wasn't paying Maria much attention at all. Which was fine. But Maria didn't quite understand what she'd done to upset her so much. Existed, maybe?

She walked out of the dressing room with two pairs of jeans that just weren't flattering and hung them back up on the 'these won't work rack.' As she was doing that, one of the dressing room doors flew open, and out came Tess, high-tailing it around the corner, holding one hand to her stomach and the other over her mouth. Before Maria could even ask her if she was okay, she was out of sight. In the bathroom. And then there were the puking sounds.

"Oh . . ." Maria cringed, making a face. Hearing that really brought her back to . . .

She froze. No way. Was Tess . . . was she . . . ? She didn't _look_. . . but she sure _sounded_. . .

Maria just stood there, dumbfounded as she heard the toilet flush. A few seconds later, Tess came trudging out, looking a lot worse for wear.

"Are you okay?" Maria immediately asked her.

"I'm fine," Tess said, slinking back into her dressing room.

"Tess, are you . . ."

"Maria." She shot her a sharp look. "Mind your own business." Then she shut the door and firmly locked it into place.

 _Oh my god, she is!_ Maria realized. There was no need to get defensive about it if there wasn't something to get defensive about.

 _I wonder if Kyle knows,_ she thought. _Or Michael._ He hadn't said anything, so maybe Tess was trying to keep it under wraps.

Maria headed back out into the store, debating whether or not she should ask Sarah about it. Surely, if anyone knew what was going on, it would be Tess's best friend. But even if she did know something, Sarah seemed trustworthy enough not to talk about it.

"Maria, what do you think of this one?" she asked, holding up a simple but elegant black dress. One-shoulder, not too high of a cut. Sarah would look as pretty in it as she seemed to look in everything else.

"It's nice," Maria replied.

"Have you found anything yet?" Sarah asked.

"Nothing that really looks right." Truth be told, she wasn't a huge shopping fanatic. It was more of a chore to her than anything else.

"There's a green dress over there on the sale rack that I think would look great on you," Sarah said, pointing behind Maria.

"Ooh, sale rack." That was definitely the preferred rack for Maria. She walked over there and started looking through, but when she found the green dress . . . it just wasn't as nice as the black one Sarah was eyeing. But it was cheaper. And green was a good color on her. She _supposed_ she could try it on.

"Well, look who it is."

She groaned, recognizing that annoying voice right away. Without even turning around, she said, "Isabel."

"And Slutty Courtney!" another voice chimed in.

Maria whirled around. Oh, she remembered Courtney. The girl had come into the Crashdown only once, but she'd managed to cause a scene while she was there. "What're you guys doing here?"

"Shopping," Isabel replied simply.

"For wardrobe," Courtney add, grinning mischievously.

 _For porn,_ Maria registered. _Fantastic._

"Hey, I remember you," Courtney said. "You're that bitch who slept with Michael."

Maria cast a glance over at Sarah, who was hanging back cautiously. But that was a mistake, because when she looked over there, so did Courtney and Isabel.

"Hey, you're Michael's girlfriend, aren't you?" Isabel called over to her.

"Yeah," Sarah replied confidently, but it was obvious that she didn't want to get wrapped up in any conversation with those two girls.

"Oh my god, you're gorgeous!" Courtney exclaimed, skipping over to her. "But of course you are. You're dating Michael Guerin."

"Um . . . thanks?" Sarah responded unsurely. Courtney then started touching her hair, asking her how she got it so soft and shiny.

"Are you here with her?" Isabel asked Maria quietly.

"So what if I am?" Then she borrowed one of Tess's lines and snapped, "Mind your own business."

Isabel snorted. "That's a little weird, don't you think? The ex hanging out with the current?"

"Just leave her alone," Maria begged, "please." Isabel and Courtney were such a mess, and she was used to dealing with messy things; but Sarah didn't deserve to be swept up into any of it, not even for a moment.

"Relax," Isabel said, "I'm not doing anything."

But when Maria looked over at Courtney again, she noticed that she _was_ doing something. Sarah was beginning to look increasingly uncomfortable as Courtney probed her with all sorts of inappropriate questions. Things like, "Does he still like doggy style best?" and "Would you ever do it with him on camera?"

"Okay, no," Maria said, heading over there to rescue Michael's poor girlfriend. She was way too pure for this shit. "We're not doing this," she said, putting herself in between Sarah and Courtney. "You two need to leave."

Courtney huffed as Isabel strode over. "Why? Are we not classy enough for this place?"

"No, but you're _trashy_ enough for Slut Barn, so why don't you try shopping there?" Maria suggested.

"Oh, bitch, I could _so_ take you right now," Courtney threatened.

Maria had no doubt about that, but she wasn't about to back down. "Give it your best shot."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sarah said, pulling Maria backward as Isabel did the same to Courtney. "Let's not get kicked out of the store here."

"I'm sorry, honey," Courtney apologized to Sarah. "It's too bad this _skank_ had to interrupt our conversation."

Much to Maria's surprise, Sarah—sweet, innocent Sarah—got a little fire burning when Courtney said that. "You have no right to call her that," she snapped. "And you have no right to ask me the kinds of things you were. It's just not appropriate."

"Ooh, it's just not _appropriate_ ," Courtney mimicked. "Oh, Isabel, god forbid we're ever not _appropriate_."

"Maybe we should just get Tess and go," Sarah suggested.

"Tess?" Isabel was suddenly intrigued. "Tess is here?"

"Oh, forget them, Isabel," Courtney said. She pointed to Sarah and accused, "This girl's no fun, and this girl . . ." She eyed Maria with contempt. "Well, we both know she's a man-stealing little whore."

"That's it," Sarah decided, "I'm getting the manager."

"Oh, don't bother, we're already leaving," Courtney said. "But Maria knows it's true. She's a whore."

"I'm not the one who does porn," Maria shot back.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure you let Michael use your backdoor a couple times, if you know what I mean." She cackled and motioned for Isabel to follow her out of the store. Isabel stayed a little bit longer, though, scanning the store as if she were trying to find Tess. But then she lowered her head and followed after Courtney like the obedient little sidekick she was.

 _Oh god, that was bracing,_ Maria thought as she stood there, her whole body tense. She tried to give Sarah a reassuring look, maybe even a thankful one, but it probably came across as more of a grimace. Because Sarah now looked uncomfortable, like Courtney's words were making her picture something she _really_ didn't want to see.

Moments later, Tess came back out from the dressing room, looking put together again and not so sick to her stomach. Looking between the both of them, she asked, "What'd I miss?"

...

Using his whole body to cover hers, Michael kissed Sarah deeply and pinned her wrists above her head with his left hand. Her body arched up off the mattress into his, and though he'd been intending to take it slow, eagerness got the best of him. His fingers itched with desire to unbutton her blouse, so with his right hand, that's what he did. He didn't even have to look at what he was doing to get each button undone.

He slid each side of her shirt away from her breasts, palming them greedily through the thin fabric of her bra. She had a gorgeous rack, perfectly proportioned the rest of her, and the more he touched them, the more he wanted to watch them bounce up and down; so he slid one arm underneath her and flipped them over, reversing their positions so that she was now the one on top.

"Ooh," she said against his lips. She proceeded to kiss him a little bit more, then sat up straighter, peeling off her shirt.

"There you go," he encouraged, reaching up to touch her breasts again. He pulled one bra cup down just far enough for her nipple to come out, and she smiled a little. But she didn't seem totally into it.

"You okay?" he asked, lowering his hands to smooth against her stomach instead.

"Yeah," she said. "I just like it better when you're on top."

"Oh, really?" That was how they usually did it—either that or doggy style—but this was always good, too. "Why's that?"

"Because you're so good at it."

"You're good, too," he pointed out.

"But you, like, _really_ know what you're doing."

"Well, we've been doing this for two years, so . . . so do you."

"I know," she said, fixing her bra so that nothing was exposed anymore.

He frowned, placing his hands on her hips. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked, sensing that this wasn't going to progress tonight.

"No," she mumbled. "Well, maybe a couple years ago."

 _What?_ He found that, when she was saying something he didn't understand, it was usually best to just tell her he didn't understand, so he said, "I'm confused."

"It's nothing," she said.

"Did something happen with Maria today?" A couple of years ago, he'd mostly done . . . well, her.

"No," she said. "I mean, kind of, but it wasn't her fault."

He propped himself up on his forearms and questioned, "What's wrong?" because he knew there was something upsetting her, regardless of this whole it's-no-big-deal dismissal.

She sighed, playing with her hair for a few seconds before conceding to tell him. "Okay, today when I was at the mall with Tess and Maria, we ran into a few . . . unexpected guests."

 _Unexpected?_ He ran the possibilities through his mind, and only one name jumped out at him. "Isabel?"

"And her friend."

"Courtney." Well, that was great. Seeing the two of them was always a lovely time.

"I swear, every time I meet someone in this town, it's some girl you've had sex with," Sarah said.

He winced. "Sorry."

"It's just . . . pretty prolific." She waved if off, though, as if she were used to it. "Whatever. You're not the same guy anymore. I get that."

"But . . . ?" Clearly something was still bothering her.

"But . . ." She trailed off into a groan, as if she _really_ didn't want to go any further. "Courtney said something, and-"

"What'd she say?" Courtney had never been anything to him, just the chick he'd drunkenly lost his virginity to; so anything that came out of her mouth probably wasn't even worth hearing.

"She just . . . well, she _implied_ that . . ." Poor Sarah kept stopping and starting over. "She mentioned something about you and Maria having . . ."

"Sex?" he filled in. Yeah, they'd done that. That wasn't news to anyone.

She grimaced. "A certain type of sex?"

"Oh." _Shit,_ he thought, knowing right away what type of sex she was referring to. The really taboo, really wild, fucking erotic kind. "Well, Courtney and I didn't even talk back then."

"But did you . . . you know." She lowered her voice as if she were embarrassed to even say it. "Have anal sex with Maria?"

 _Oh . . . crap._ This was a conversation he'd never wanted to have. But he couldn't lie to her. "Yeah," he answered hesitantly.

She nodded, looking down at her hands instead of in his eyes anymore.

"But I told you, I've pretty much . . . done everything."

"I know," she said, "but . . . I don't know, I guess I thought you were talking about, like, sixty-nine and . . . maybe a little spanking."

"Oh, I haven't done spanking," he lied, sitting up so he could put his arms around her and really hold her in his lap. Maybe they could do it together.

She saw right through him, though. "Nice try. Yes, you have."

He sighed and admitted, "Okay, I have. So what, though? That's . . ." He motioned behind his head. "That's in the past."

"You're just so much more experienced than I am," she said.

"That's okay." He'd been more experienced than Maria, too, more experienced than Liz and Isabel. He was used to being the one to teach these girls things.

"I know it's okay," she whimpered softly, "but now I wonder if I'm living up to your expectations."

"My _expectations_?" he echoed, unable to help but laugh. "Sarah . . ."

"Because I don't wanna have anal sex."

"You don't have to." That wasn't a requirement for their relationship, just like it hadn't been a requirement for him and Maria. It had just been something adventurous and sensual that they'd tried together. And . . . well, yeah, it _had_ been pretty downright incredible, and it was probably one of those things he'd never forget, but . . .

He couldn't think about that right now.

"Did you guys do it like that a lot?" she asked worriedly.

"No. We only did it once."

That seemed to make her feel better. The smallest bit of relief started to show in her eyes. "I just . . . I can't do it like that," she said.

"That's fine."

"I know you're really daring and all, but . . . there's just some stuff I don't really think I'd like."

Well, he sure as hell liked it, but he'd never mentioned it to her before, and now that he was able to gauge her reaction to it, he didn't think he'd ever mention it in the future. "Don't worry about it," he said, his hands crawling up her back to touch her hair. "It's not important to me."

"I know, it's just . . . sometimes I'm insecure when it comes to sex."

"But you're not insecure about anything else," he pointed out.

"That's because I know I'm really good at everything else."

He chuckled at that. "Well, just so you know, I'm, like, a hundred- _thousand_ percent satisfied with our sex life, so you must be really good at that, too."

Finally, at last, that got a smile out of her. "I love you," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"I love you, too." He pulled her in close and kissed her, carefully moving her so that she wasn't sitting right on the growing bulge in his crotch. He couldn't really control it. All this talk of anal sex . . . it got him reminiscing.

...

There was this incessant knocking at the door the next day, but Isabel had no intention of getting up to answer it. She continue to lay in bed while this knocking continued for at least a full minute, and unfortunately, it got to the point where she couldn't ignore it. When she heard a familiar voice yelling her name, she immediately became more interested.

"Isabel!"

 _Michael._

She sprang out of bed, eager to see what this could be about. The house felt empty as she headed downstairs, so no wonder he'd had to knock so long.

She swung open the door, and when he saw her, he immediately held his hand up over her eyes, as though she were repulsive or something.

"What?" she asked innocently. Sure, she'd just gotten out of bed, but she didn't look _that_ bad.

"Can you maybe put some clothes on?"

She looked down at the bra and panties she'd fallen asleep in. "These are clothes," she squeaked out. "How'd you know where I live?"

"I just asked around. Turns out, it's not too hard to find out where the town porn stars live."

She rolled her eyes. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Okay, you know what? You're a fucking bitch," he growled suddenly. His hostility was . . . alarming. "I hate you."

"What did I do?" she asked innocently.

"You and Courtney, yesterday, talkin' to Sarah. Does that ring a bell?"

"I didn't say anything to her."

"Fine, but your best friend did. You know what? Just stay the hell away from my girlfriend."

"Which one?" she retorted.

For a second, that silenced him. But just for a second. "Funny."

"I'm serious."

"You don't even know what you're talkin' about. Just stay out of it."

"Well, if I hurt poor little Sarah's delicate feelings," Isabel said nastily, "then why isn't _she_ over here chewing me out? Do you always fight her battles for her?"

"She's just got way too much class. You know, something you used to have."

She snorted indignantly and rolled her eyes.

"She's so much better than you."

"Better?" Isabel challenged. Funny, she hadn't _seen_ Sarah on Princeton's campus.

"Yeah, better," he affirmed. "She's a better girlfriend, she's a better person. Why don't you and Courtney just stick to making low-rent movies with your loser boyfriends, and leave those of us who actually have a future alone."

"Oh!" She laughed angrily. "So now I have no future. And you do. Isn't that ironic?"

"You know what your problem is, Isabel? You're so desperate for attention. You do anything you can to make yourself relevant to the rest of us, but you just end up acting like a bitch. And nobody cares about you."

 _Jesse does,_ she thought. _Courtney and Eric do._ But after that . . . yeah, the list was pretty short. Her own mother wasn't even on it anymore.

"So stay the hell away from us," he reiterated coldly, "and go get gang-banged or something." He shook his head as if he were disgusted by the mere sight of her, then turned and headed across the lawn to his car.

She stood in the doorway in her underwear, watching him get in and drive away. That was the first guy she'd ever slept with right there, the first guy she'd ever loved. The guy who'd cheated on her twice and ruined her life once. And now he was the one who had a future, and she had . . . this.

Slamming the door, she ran into the downstairs bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet. Courtney had some pills in there that she took all the time, and even though Isabel wasn't sure what they were, she unscrewed the cap of the bottle and dropped five into the palm of her hand.

 _Try not to pay attention to this,_ she thought resentfully as she tossed her head back and shoved all five of them into her mouth.


	30. Chapter 30

_Good lesson today,_ Alex thought as he gathered up his supplies. _I gotta do small group discussions more often._

"Alex?"

He looked up, and much to his surprise, there was Isabel. She had on an oversized t-shirt, jeans, and shoes that didn't match. Her hair was all over the place, her makeup was smeared, and she was sweating.

"Isabel, where were you?" he said. "Class is over."

"Sorry," she said, barely able to put one foot in front of the other as she came into the classroom. "I had a . . . rough morning."

 _Or a rough night,_ he thought, honestly repulsed by the sight of her in that moment. She looked like some girl from the street corner who had just given some guy a real fun time.

"God, what's wrong with you?" he grumbled disappointedly. It was so sad to see her succumb to this.

"I'm just . . . tired," she said, reaching out for him.

He swatted her hand away, but when he did that, she stumbled so far to the side that he had to reach out and catch her. "Whoa, are you okay?"

"Tired," she repeated, her eyes falling shut.

"Are you drunk?"

"No," she whimpered.

She looked . . . strung-out on something. "Then what-" Before he could finish the question, though, her entire body went limp in his arms, and she was falling. "Isabel!" He sat down with her, keeping his arms around her. "Isabel, stay with me." He patted her cheek, not too forcefully, but enough to hopefully elicit some kind or reaction.

There wasn't one.

"Isabel." She was breathing, but she didn't look good at all. He was really worried about her.

"Shit," he swore, reaching up onto the front table to grab his phone. He quickly dialed 911.

...

Isabel's throat felt dry. Like sandpaper. She wanted to say that she needed water, but her whole mouth felt like it weighed twenty pounds.

Her eyelids were similarly heavy, but she managed to open them, squinting against the bright light of . . . where the hell was she? A hospital room? She was in the hospital?

She tried to look around, but everything hurt, so swiveling her neck was painful. She spotted Alex over by the window, though, looking outside pensively, and seeing him there made her feel a little better.

"Alex?" she croaked out.

His head snapped away from the window, and his whole body relaxed as he breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God," he said, coming towards the bed.

"What happened?" she asked, barely able to get the words out.

"You don't remember?"

"No." The last thing she remembered was Michael, and how mad at he'd been at her.

"You were halfway conscious when the ambulance got you here," he said. "You told 'em you took some pills, apparently some really dangerous ones. So they pumped your stomach."

She rubbed her scratchy throat, asking, "Is that why it hurts?"

"Your stomach?"

"My throat."

"Well, yeah, they shoved a tube down it."

She groaned, but that only made her throat feel worse. And she had a headache. And she felt exhausted. Why had she done this again?

"Just get some sleep," he said.

She planned on it, but first, she wanted to know, "Why are you here?"

"Somehow you made it to campus, into my classroom," he told her. "You collapsed in my arms, so I called 911."

Of course she'd made it to campus, made it to him. There was no one better to be around when she needed help. "Thank you," she croaked out, her eyes drifting shut.

"Get some sleep," he repeated. She couldn't be sure, but as she was drifting off again, she thought she felt the back of his hand against her cheek. And that made her feel better.

...

Cheryl had been pregnant for so long that Michael could barely remember what she looked like as a normal human being. But now that she'd had her baby, he'd get a refresher. He and Sarah went to the hospital the day after the baby was born to offer their congrats and see the little guy, and as usual, Sarah was completely at ease and he was uncomfortable. He was good with kids, sure, but babies? That was uncharted territory for him.

"Oh my god, he's so cute!" Sarah raved as he looked down at the sleeping baby boy in Cheryl's arms. "What's his name?"

"Nathan." Lying in her hospital bed, Cheryl was beaming. The woman had to be exhausted, but she looked better than Michael had ever seen her.

"He's beautiful," Sarah said. "He looks like both of you."

Michael patted Steve on the shoulder and said, "Congratulations, man. You made that."

"Crazy," Steve said. "It's surreal. I'm a father now."

"You'll be a good one," Michael assured him. Steve and Cheryl were only a couple years older than he and Sarah were, and their financial situation was . . . pretty tight. And neither one of them had finished college yet, and they were having to put it on hold next semester. So things would probably get stressful for a while, but they'd make it. They'd been together since their freshman year of high school, so there was no way they wouldn't last.

"Do you wanna hold him?" Cheryl asked.

Sarah's whole face lit up. "Can I?"

"Sure, go ahead." Cheryl carefully passed the little boy off into Sarah's arms, and Sarah gasped with delight as she got to hold him.

"Oh, look at him. He's so perfect."

"Great," Michael mumbled, "now she's gonna have baby fever."

Steve chuckled. "Just wear a condom. You'll be fine."

Michael watched his girlfriend, watched that gleam in her eyes get bigger and bigger, and he imagined that this is what she would be like as a mom someday. Full of energy, full of excitement, full of love. That was just who Sarah was all the time.

"Do you wanna hold him?" Steve asked.

It took Michael a second to realize he was asking him. "Me?"

"Yeah."

The thought of it made him nervous. "I don't know. I've never really held a baby before. Except Tina once, but I almost dropped her on her head."

"Oh, this is comforting," Cheryl muttered sarcastically.

"Here, just hold him," Sarah said, gently passing him off. "Support the head."

And just like that, he had a baby boy in his arms. A baby boy who indeed was pretty damn cute. Michael thought he looked more like Cheryl than like Steve, though, which, for the kid's sake, was a good thing.

"He likes you," Sarah said.

Michael smiled, because Nathan started to open up his eyes. And when he looked up at him, he sort of smiled and gurgled a little.

When they left, they had to head all the way back through the hospital to the parking lot on the other side. The whole time they walked, Sarah kept talking about the baby.

"And his soft little skin," she was saying. "Why can't our skin stay soft like that forever?"

"I don't know." Her skin was pretty damn soft, though.

"And did you see those little fingers? I mean, how cute is he?"

"Pretty cute."

"Steve and Cheryl are gonna be so good at this. That little baby just hit the jackpot."

"Yeah." He had two parents who loved him, and . . . well, that was a lot more than some kids had. "So seein' Cheryl and Steve with a baby doesn't make you wanna have a baby, right?" he questioned, just to make sure.

She gave him a look. "Michael, we're twenty-one."

"So that's a no then?"

"Yes, that's a no. Or a not yet, I guess I should say. Because someday down the line, obviously, I would want that with you." She reached down and held his hand. "We'd make great parents."

"Well . . ." He wasn't so sure about that. "You'd make a great parent; I'd just try my best."

"Oh, please, after seeing you with those football boys . . . I just know you'll be father-of-the-year."

"Hmm." He remembered calling his own dad that, but sarcastically. Before he could say anything more about it, someone familiar walked out of the hospital room right in front of them, starting down the hall. Even from the back, Michael recognized him right away. "Alex."

Alex spun around, looking surprised to see him. "Michael."

"Hey." Guy didn't look any different. "Man, I haven't seen you in forever."

"Yeah, it's been a while," Alex agreed.

"How's life treatin' you?"

"Pretty good. Just busy with work and school, you know."

"Yeah, same here." He remembered then that Sarah had no idea who this was, though, so he quickly introduced her. "Oh, this is Sarah, my girlfriend. Sarah, this is Alex, the guy who tutored me in high school."

"Oh, so you're the one who's responsible for making Michael as smart as he is," she remarked.

A confused look crept to Alex's face. "I am?"

Michael laughed lightly. "I have a 3.8 now."

Alex's eyes bulged in noticeable surprise. "Wow," he said. "That's amazing. Congratulations, I always knew you could do it."

"Thanks." Michael cleared his throat and asked, "So what're you doin' here?" Did he have a pregnant wife now, too, or something?

"Michael," Sarah said, giving him a cautionary look.

 _Right,_ he realized. _None of my business._ "Sorry," he apologized. For all he knew, Alex was there for something really private.

"No, it's okay," Alex said. "I, uh . . ." He trailed off, giving Michael a serious look, and then he motioned with his head to the hospital room he'd just come out of.

Michael craned his neck back and peered inside, and he was shocked by what he saw. Lying there on the bed, hooked up to all sorts of equipment, eyes closed . . . was Isabel.

 _What?_ his mind screamed. She looked . . . awful.

"Oh my god," Sarah whispered. "Is that . . . ?"

"She took some pills," Alex explained. "She wasn't in class, but she came to me after, and she just collapsed. So I called 911."

 _Some pills?_ Michael thought, horrified. That meant . . . that meant that what he'd said had set her off. She had to have taken the pills after he went to see her this morning. "Is she gonna be okay?" he asked. Despite everything he'd said, he didn't want to see Isabel hurt herself. Or worse.

"She'll be fine," Alex said. "Physically, at least."

The longer he looked at her, the more his stomach started to churn. He felt like he was going to be sick. How the hell was that Isabel Evans lying there? How the hell was that the same girl who used to wear that cheerleading uniform, who used to get up in front of the entire student body and deliver speeches? That girl had been beautiful and talented and way too good for him. This girl was unrecognizable.

"I gotta go," Alex said. "Good to see you, though."

"Yeah." Michael barely noticed him leave. It took a gentle squeeze from Sarah's hand to snap him out of his stupor and get him to continue walking, too. But he'd only taken a few more steps when he had to stop, unlink his hand from hers, and drag both of his through his already unruly hair.

"Are you okay?" Sarah asked, concerned.

He was better than Isabel but feeling guilty as hell. "That's my fault," he said, motioning back towards her hospital room. If he hadn't gone over there and said anything to her, then maybe she wouldn't have slipped over the edge.

...

Alex called his superiors to explain why he wouldn't be in his office today. They understood the situation and gave him the afternoon off, so he went home, feeling completely spent.

Leanna was there.

"You're home early," she remarked as she blended up a protein shake in the kitchen.

"Yeah, I had . . . kind of a weird day," he told her.

"What happened?"

"Oh . . ." He could barely even talk about it; it horrified him so much. "I had a student show up late to class, and she passed out in my arms. I had to call 911 to get her to the hospital. Apparently she took a lot of pills."

Instead of asking if this person was going to be okay, Leanna narrowed her eyes at him and asked, "Which student?"

Those eyes of hers . . . they stabbed him like jealous daggers, and he couldn't believe it. She was going to envy a girl who just almost overdosed.

"Isabel," he answered honestly.

Rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, she shook her head and abandoned her protein shake on the counter. "Of course," she muttered, stopping at the front door to slip on a pair of sandals. She grabbed her keys off the TV stand and stormed out, fuming.

After today . . . he had neither the energy nor the desire to go out after her. She would just have to be pissed, because he'd done what he needed to do today.

...

Even as she was sleeping, Isabel felt a hand holding hers. A warm hand. "Alex?" she called groggily, stirring.

"No, baby. It's me."

 _Jesse._ She slowly opened her eyes, and there was her boyfriend, sitting right next to her bed, smiling at her.

"Hey," he said. "Welcome back."

 _Where did I go?_ she wondered.

"You really scared me, baby," he said, reaching up to brush her hair off her forehead.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. She didn't know why she'd done it. Taking pills was stupid. She knew that. But Courtney took them all the time, and she drank and did drugs. And nothing happened.

"I'm just glad you're okay," he said, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. "Promise me you won't do that again."

"I promise," she said weakly. But she meant it. She wasn't suicidal, but now everyone was going to think she was. She just . . . she wasn't sure what she was, but it was dark, and it was complicated. She didn't want to die, though.

"Good," he said. "I love you, you know. You're _mi amor_."

She managed a smile, loving when he said things like that. "I love you, too," she said. Jesse might not have been the perfect boyfriend, but for almost three years now, he'd been in her life, never abandoning her the way so many other people had done. He was all she really had.

"Alright, well, you should get some more sleep," Jesse told her. "I think I'm gonna head home."

"Home?" she echoed sadly. Why couldn't he just stay there with her? If she had to stay all night, she didn't want to be there by herself.

"Eric and I are putting some finishing touches on some new footage," he said. "We got a lot of work to do."

 _Work,_ she thought. _Right._ There was always that.

"But I'll be back bright and early tomorrow morning to pick you up," Jesse promised, lifting up her hand to give it a kiss. "Sleep well, baby."

"Bye," she said, watching longingly as he walked out of the room. And then it was just her and those uncomfortable pillows and all those intimidating machines. No Jesse. No Alex. No one.

...

Even though it practically killed him, Michael swallowed his pride and drove over to Max and Maria's house the next morning before class. It was . . . modest. Smaller than the home he'd grown up in, but better maintained on the outside. The house was blue with white trim, and it was painted well, of course, since house-painting was one of Max's dead-end jobs.

He didn't want to be there, but he was, and he felt like he had to be. So he went up and rang the doorbell, hoping that it would be Max who came to the door and not Maria. Strangely enough, Max was the one he wanted to see this time.

Fortunately for him, Max was the one who opened the door. He looked like he was dressed for work on the construction site, and sort of like he was in hurry. "Michael," he said. "Wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Yeah, I got your address off of Dylan's football registration form."

"Oh." Max nodded and kept looking at him expectantly. "Is there something you need?"

What he _needed_ was to feel like less of a jackass, so he mumbled, "I just wondered how she was doin' today."

"Who?" Max questioned. "Maria?"

"No." Wasn't it obvious? "Isabel."

Max frowned, confused. "What's wrong with her?"

"You don't know?"

Max shook his head.

 _What the hell?_ He'd just assumed . . . "She's in the hospital," he told him. "She took a bunch of pills."

Max's whole expression registered shock. "What?"

"I thought you knew."

"No." Max genuinely looked worried about his sister . . . although it was hard to tell if anything with Max Evans was _actually_ genuine. "Is she okay?"

"I guess so. Physically at least." Michael shrugged. Isabel wasn't okay. She hadn't been for years now, and everyone knew it. "Look, I don't like you. I don't like bein' here right now. I don't really buy this whole you-bein'-a-changed-man thing. But you're sure as hell doin' a lot better than your sister is. She's a wreck. She needs somebody. But I'm not that person, and her boyfriend's not that person, and her best friend's not that person. So maybe you can be that person for her. I don't know." He just felt like Isabel was going to disappear if nobody did anything.

"We're not . . ." Max hung his head and mumbled, "We're not close."

"Yeah, but you're still her brother," Michael reminded him. That meant he had an inherent connection to her no matter what. "You say you're a good guy, so maybe now's your chance to prove it."

Max let out a heavy sigh, and Michael wasn't sure whether it was because he didn't want to help or because he just doubted he could.

"Help her," he said as he turned and left. Maybe there was one good thing that could come out of Max being in Carlsbad. And maybe this was that thing.

...

Max was conflicted. On the one hand, yes, he was Isabel's brother. But on the other hand, cutting ties with her was a strategic, deliberate decision he'd made on his own path to recovery. She was no good for him, because she involved herself in too much shady stuff. He couldn't be around that; he couldn't have that in his life.

Despite all that, though, he overcame his reluctance and drove to the hospital instead of to the construction site after Michael dropped by that morning. He called his boss and explained why he'd be in late, and even though his boss wasn't exactly sympathetic, he said it was fine.

 _What am I supposed to do?_ Max wondered as he approached the information desk. How was he supposed to help someone else when he'd only recently learned how to help himself?

"Excuse me," he said to the woman sitting behind the desk. "I'm here to see Isabel Evans. I'm her brother."

"Let's see . . ." She typed in some things quickly and said, "Oh, she's checking out this morning. She might even already be gone. You can go see if she's still here, though. Room 221."

"Thanks." He headed past the information desk and down to the end of the hall, following the signs that hung from the ceiling. He veered to the right, contemplating calling his mom and letting her know what was going on. She never asked about Isabel, never said anything about her anymore. It was like she was ashamed of her. But she wasn't ashamed of him, not even after everything he'd done. Maybe if he could get her there, then maybe _she'd_ be the right person to help Isabel. And then he'd be able to stay out of it.

When he got to the room, he walked in to find it empty. No Isabel. Nobody at all. The sheets hadn't been changed yet, though, so she'd probably just left right before he showed up there. He was too late.

 _Dammit,_ he thought, discouraged. Even though he didn't _want_ to get involved, he would have done whatever he could. But really, what was he supposed to do? He'd turned his life around because he wanted to, because he'd gone out there and sought out help. But how did anyone help a girl like Isabel, a girl who didn't want to be helped?

...

Thursday morning, Maria was running late to class. She'd get in there before it started, but only _right_ before. And she'd definitely had to walk fast from the parking lot to make up time.

Much to her surprise, as she was nearing Lecuona Hall, she saw Michael trudging forward, too. Usually he got there before her. College seemed to have transformed him into someone who was actually quite punctual.

She caught up to him and said, "Hey."

"Hey," he echoed, his voice flat.

"You look tired," she remarked. That spark of energy that was usually in his eyes just didn't seem to be there today.

"I haven't slept well these past few days," he admitted.

"I can tell." She headed up the outside steps, but his pace slowed, and eventually, he just stopped altogether. "You coming?" she asked, turning back around.

He looked at the building as though he were absolutely dreading walking inside of it. "I don't think so."

She frowned. This wasn't just tiredness. Something was bothering him. "Are you okay?" she asked as other last-minute arrivers blew right past them and scurried inside.

"Yeah," he said. "I just don't think I wanna sit in there today. You go ahead, though." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned around, heading right back the way he had come.

 _Vintage Michael,_ she thought, _skipping class._ Truth be told, she'd started to wonder if this side of him even existed anymore.

 _Go inside,_ she told herself. _Go to class._

Her feet didn't move.

"Michael."

He turned back around.

 _Oh god, what am I doing?_ she thought. Her mouth moved on its own accord. "Do you wanna go for a drive?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't need to. The answer was obvious in those tired eyes.

She was parked closer, so they got in her car, and they just drove. He didn't say anything; it was weird to see him so quiet. It just seemed like he needed to get away and think about . . . whatever was on his mind.

"Where do you wanna go?" she asked, slowing down as she approached a red light. She could either take a left and head out of town, drive off onto that relatively deserted highway that she'd taken to Roswell. Or she could take a right, and they could go somewhere in town.

"Anywhere," he mumbled, still staring out the window.

When the light turned green . . . she just took a left.

She drove for about fifteen minutes, and when she felt like they were far enough out of town, she pulled onto the side of the road and stopped. They got out, and she sat on the hood. He paced around, still relatively non-verbal. He seemed lost in thought as he picked up a few rocks and threw them out into the dry field.

Even though she wanted to know what was going on, Maria just sat there and watched him, trying to figure it out on her own instead of asking him about it. Michael was unique in that, at times, he was an open book—his thoughts and his feelings were obvious. But at other times, he was still very much a mystery. And this was one of those times.

She knew he'd open up about whatever was on his mind when he was ready, though, and eventually, he did. He threw one last rock out into the desert and asked, "Did you hear about Isabel?"

And just like that, it all made sense. How withdrawn he was, why he wasn't talking . . . it was because of Isabel. "Yeah," Maria said softly. She hadn't said anything, because she wasn't sure if he knew. "Max told me. And he texted me that he tried to go see her at the hospital, but she was already gone."

Michael stared off into the horizon, his face a mask of emotions. "I think she's been gone for a while now."

Maria looked down at her lap, saddened by the truth of that. It wasn't hard to pinpoint when and why Isabel's downward spiral had started, and she knew she'd played a big part in that.

Michael kicked at the dirt for a moment, then shuffled back to the car and climbed up on the hood, sitting beside her, shoulders slumped. "It's my fault," he said. "I said some stuff to her."

She wasn't going to probe about what he'd said, because obviously he already felt guilty enough about it. "You can't blame yourself," she said. Isabel was a big girl; she made her own decisions.

"She still blames me," he said. "She blames both of us."

Maria swallowed hard, nodding in understanding.

"You know, I got this great life," he went on, his eyes focused straight ahead at nothing in particular. "Everything's goin' my way. But I had to walk all over some people to get here."

"You didn't ruin her life, though." Plenty of girls in high school had boyfriends break up for them, and often cheating played a major role. But most of those girls didn't resort to a life of porn and pills to overcome it.

"Ruined my dad's life," Michael muttered suddenly.

Maria bristled. Where had that come from? Michael barely ever said anything about his dad anymore. It seemed like a taboo subject that he never wanted to talk about.

"I don't want Isabel to end up killin' herself," he said, his voice cloaked in sadness. "That's what he did."

It was? She didn't understand. Hadn't he . . . choked on his own vomit or something like that? "I thought you said he drank too much," she said.

"Yeah. He knew he was an alcoholic and he kept drinking." There was a bit of an edge to Michael's voice when he said that, an anger. "So he killed himself slowly. Year after year. Day after day. Night after night."

Maria felt a tear roll down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. She remembered Andy's drinking, the toll it had taken on the whole family. Krista had been so unhappy with him, and Michael had been so . . . afraid. Afraid of becoming the same thing.

"He just checked out," Michael growled. "And I act like it doesn't bother me, but . . ." He pressed his lips tightly together, clenched his jaw. "It does. Every day."

Maria wanted to reach over and put her hand on his shoulder, or give him a hug. Just something to make him feel better. But she couldn't do any of that. Not anymore. "Well," she said, trying to focus on something positive, "at least you know you're not gonna end up like him." She was so proud of this person Michael had become. He'd defied everyone's expectations. Even her own.

"And I don't want anyone else to," he said. "Not Kyle, not Tina. Not Isabel."

Kyle would be okay. Maria was sure of that. If he and Tess had a baby . . . it would be the motivation he needed to get better. Tina was on the wrong path, but she was still young and could turn it around. Isabel's future probably looked the bleakest. Ironic, considering it had once been so bright.

A gust of wind whipped past, blowing her hair back over her shoulders and making her shiver. She inhaled sharply and asked him, "Why are you telling me this?" It seemed like the kind of thing he should be telling Sarah.

For just about the first time since they'd gotten in that car, he turned and looked her in the eye. "Because you were there," he said. "You lived through it with me."

Memories assaulted her mind, memories of _all_ the things they'd lived through. All the nights they'd laid up in his bedroom and just talked about anything that was on their minds, just kept talking to drown out the arguments his parents were having.

Looking back out onto the open highway, he told her, "You're the only one who understands."

She felt another tear spill over her lower lid when he said that, and she wasn't even sure why. But she didn't bother to wipe this one away. She just let it fall, hoping he wouldn't look over again and notice.


	31. Chapter 31

As Sarah's hands roamed all over his back, smoothing out all the knots there, it was like all the tension just started to dissolve from Michael's body. Today had actually been a pretty good day. Driving out of town with Maria and just talking to her, getting some stuff off his chest . . . it felt good to open up to someone, not just about Isabel, but about his dad, too. He hadn't realized that there was so much he'd been holding in.

Behind him, straddling his waist, Sarah asked, "Does it feel good?" as she continued to massage him.

"Yeah." With his head pillowed on his arms, he honestly felt like he could fall asleep as she was doing this.

"You seem less stressed out tonight," she remarked, pressing hard against his right shoulder blade.

"I am."

She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his back, and asked, "Did you hear anything about Isabel?"

"No." She had to be out of the hospital by now, though, and probably back home doing . . . what she usually did.

"It's not your fault, you know," she whispered.

As nice as it would have been to believe that . . . "No, it kind of is." He wasn't going to take all the blame for her actions over the past few years, but he could at least own up to the part he'd played in this downward spiral of hers.

Sarah sat up again, and her hands got back to work. "Do you wanna talk about it?" she offered.

He shut his eyes and answered quickly. "Not really."

She didn't push or prod for him to say anything. She just kept massaging him with her warm, gentle hands.

He opened his eyes again, frowning slightly. _Maybe I should say something,_ he thought. Maybe he should tell her how he felt about this whole Isabel mess, and how it made him think back to his dad. But he didn't. He didn't say anything.

Thank God she wasn't asking him _why_ he didn't want to talk about it. Because if she did, he wasn't sure how he would have explained that he'd already had that conversation . . . with Maria.

...

Isabel held her cigarette in her mouth with two fingers, inhaling deeply. She took the cigarette out, held the smoke in for a moment, and then exhaled slowly, letting it dribble out into the air. "Fantastic," she muttered as she saw a familiar car pull up out front, the same one that had stopped there a couple days ago. Michael got out and came across the dry font lawn.

"You smoke now?" he remarked disapprovingly, sitting down beside her on the porch.

"Occasionally," she said, taking another puff. "And spare me the lecture on bad habits, because you used to have all of them."

"I never smoked," he claimed.

She gave him a knowing look.

"Not cigarettes, at least," he amended. He'd been known to get high at parties sometimes, though.

"Well, would you rather I pop some more pills?" she joked darkly.

"That's not funny."

"That's why you're here, though, isn't it? You wanna make sure I'm okay so you don't feel like a horrible person." She rolled her eyes at the utter obviousness of it all. "You're so transparent." Michael had avoided any and all contact with her for the better part of two and a half years now. But suddenly, right when he had something to feel guilty about, there he was, ready to talk.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked outright.

She grunted. "Why do you care?"

"Because the Isabel Evans I remember would never try to kill herself."

She made a face and denied, "That's not what I did."

"Oh, really?"

"No." Her life may not have been sunshine and rainbows, but she didn't want it to end. "I just . . . wasn't thinking. I do a lot of dumb stuff without thinking. Sort of like you used to do. What was the dumbest thing you did again?" She tapped her chin, pretending to have to think about it. "Oh, that's right: Maria."

He shot her an annoyed look.

"I bet you still have a thing for her," she speculated, figuring Michael would probably always harbor one of those undying flames for Maria DeLuca. Why? She didn't know, but it would always be there.

"You keep tryin' to make this about me," he said, "but it's not about me; it's about you."

That was where he was wrong, though. At the end of the day, it all came back to him. "You're gonna be a counselor or something, right?" she said, stubbing her cigarette out in the ashtray she'd brought outside with her. "Okay then, let's hear it: What's your grand advice for a lost little girl like me?"

He shook his head. "There's no point in sayin' it if you're not really gonna listen."

"No, I'm listening," she insisted. "Honest." If nothing else, talking to him was a good way to pass the time.

He waited a moment, then started in with the predictable trip down memory lane. "Remember how you used to go on and on about how I had all this potential to be somebody great?"

"Unfortunately," she muttered.

"Well, did you ever think that maybe you have that kind of potential, too?"

She laughed at his pathetic attempt to reach her. "Oh, Michael, I'm touched," she said sarcastically. "It only took me nearly dying for you to say something nice to me."

"I'm serious. That girl you were back in high school . . . she was great."

 _Oh, really?_ she wanted to say. _If I was so great, then why did you break up with me?_ "Not great enough, apparently," she said.

"You were smart and beautiful and talented. And everyone knew it. I knew it. Hell, I always knew you were too good for me."

Maybe she had been, back then. Maybe she had been all those things. But no one remembered Isabel Evans as the smart valedictorian, because she'd been shoved out of that position for character issues. No one remembered Isabel Evans as the talented leader, the student body president. No one remembered her as the beautiful homecoming queen. All they remembered was her fall from grace.

"And now look at you," he said. "Why the hell would you settle for bein' like this when you know you can be so much more?"

"Michael . . ." He didn't get it. He'd gone from being no one to being someone. It was a lot harder when you did that same thing in reverse. "I barely even remember the girl I used to be."

"Well, I remember her," he said. "And this whole pill thing? That was her cry for help." He got up and brushed his hands against his jeans, sighing. "I can't help you, Isabel. But you gotta find someone who can."

She stayed right there, just sitting still while he headed back across the yard, got in his car, and left. _Help_ wasn't a word that flitted through her mind very often, but whenever it did . . . it felt like something unattainable and far away.

She went upstairs, grabbed a pen and paper, and started writing, wondering if it was possible that she felt the slightest bit inspired. But she only got a few lines down when she felt that familiar mental block that kept her from expanding on it.

 _If I cry out, will anybody hear me?_

 _Will you? Will he? Will they?_

 _Will I?_

She read the words over and over again. At first, they rang out loud in her mind, but gradually, they got softer and softer, until she didn't even care anymore. So she crumpled up the paper and dropped it into the trash.

...

Another Saturday, another game in Artesia. This one was for all the marbles, though. The Eddy County youth football championship game. The Cardinals got to be the hosts because they were the unbeaten team. Great.

There were fans from all four participating schools there, but the bleachers were mostly covered with people wearing red to support the home team. Since the first matchup was a rematch with the Bulldogs, though, there was some green in the stands, too. Maria looked around for someone to sit by, and lo and behold, there was Sarah, back up at the top of the bleachers. She was sitting by herself this time, though.

"Hey, you," she said, waving Maria up.

"Hey." Maria pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt down over her hands and sat down beside her. "Kinda cold out today."

"Yeah, Michael called it 'football weather.'"

Maria shivered, glad that it hadn't gotten cold out sooner. "I can't believe this is the last game."

"I know. I wish I'd seen all of them."

"No, you don't," Maria told her. "They weren't pretty." That first one in particular had just been a massacre. "The old coach was an ass. I didn't even want Dylan to keep playing after the first game, but he wanted to stick with it."

"Are you glad he did?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, yeah. He's really loved it these past couple weeks."

"Good. Michael and Kyle have done a great job."

"Yeah." Maria looked down onto the field, and there they were, the coaches, both of them standing on the sideline. No wheelchair for Kyle today. He had crutches, though, to help him stay upright. "So is Tess gonna be here today?" she inquired, returning her attention to Sarah.

"Uh, no. She's not feeling all that well, so she stayed home," Sarah replied.

"Oh." That was fine, Maria supposed. Mall Monday hadn't been enough to erase Tess's hostility towards her.

Even though she wasn't sure if it was her business to ask or not, Maria was curious about just _why_ Tess wasn't feeling all that well this morning. So she blurted, "Is she pregnant?" without giving it much thought.

Sarah's mouth opened, but she remained silent, and her whole body tensed up.

"You don't have to say anything," Maria told her, realizing she'd probably promised Tess to stay quiet about it. But her silence said it all. Tess was pregnant. She'd suspected as much.

"So where's Max?" Sarah asked, changing the subject.

"He had to work." He worked a lot of Saturdays, unfortunately, but as much as it sucked . . . he was the only one who had a job, so they needed the money.

"Oh, that's too bad," Sarah said.

"Yeah, I know he hates to miss this." When basketball season rolled around, though, he wouldn't miss _any_ of those games. He _really_ wanted Dylan to be a great basketball player.

"Well, you'll just have to take lots of pictures and videos, and then he'll feel like he was here," Sarah said.

"That's the plan," Maria said, whipping out her phone. She snapped a few photos of Dylan warming up out there on the field, but most of them were kind of blurry.

"I'm glad we have each other to sit with, though," Sarah said cheerily.

"Yeah." Maria smiled, just because Sarah was very easy to talk to and get along with. But inside . . . that smile was more of a grimace. Because this still felt weird to her.

After the national anthem played over the loudspeaker, the game began. It was much more _official_ than the other ones had been. There was an announcer and everything, so anytime Dylan made a play, Maria heard something like, "DeLuca with the grab," or "Nice catch by Dylan DeLuca."

 _How is my kid so athletic?_ she wondered. It must have been all Max's genes, because he sure as hell hadn't gotten any of that from her.

Even though they were playing the same team from last week, this game was much more exciting. There was a lot more scoring. Each side had two touchdowns at halftime, and Dylan had been responsible for one of them. Luke had run for the other. It really was like watching a mini-Michael and Kyle out there.

"Oh, I hope they score again," Sarah said as the third quarter started off.

Maria was lucky to be filming their first offensive play of that half, because it was a big one for Dylan. Luke passed it to him, and even though he bobbled it in his hands, he managed to hold onto it and run halfway towards the end zone before he was tackled. It was a bit too rough of a tackle, one that made the whole crowd groan.

"Oh god," Maria said, her heart starting to pound worriedly. Her main reservation about football was the physical aggression of it all. It was dangerous. Kyle was proof of that.

Thankfully, Dylan got right back up, though, and moved right back into position. He even started barking orders at the other kids when they didn't line up correctly.

A few plays later, little Luke was running the ball into the end zone again, and the Bulldogs, much to the surprise of the home team and its fans, were in the lead by six points. And that score stood until the end of the game. Neither offense could get anything going after that, so it was a win. A victory. A _first_ victory for a team that Michael had managed to completely transform.

"Eighteen to twelve. That's your final score, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer said. "The Pound Elementary Bulldogs pull the off the upset."

"Yay!" Sarah squealed, clapping her hands excitedly, leaning over to give Maria a big hug.

"Oh." Maria somewhat hugged her back as she tried to keep her phone positioned to film the team's celebration as they all ran towards the sideline. Max would want to see this later.

...

In between games, there was a break. Had to be. Rules stated that a team wasn't allowed to play again without taking at least a thirty minute break in between. That meant it was going to be a _long_ day. Two other teams had to play, and the Cardinals would play the loser of that game in a battle for third. It would probably be 4:00 by the time the championship game got underway and Dylan played again.

"You did so good out there," Maria complimented her son as they sat with Michael at a picnic table, eating food from the concession stand.

"Thanks," he said, shoving half his hotdog into his mouth.

"I'm so proud of you." As much as she hated the thought of Dylan getting any bigger, she did look forward to cheering him on in all his games over the years. It would be amazing to watch him play in high school if he was already getting this good.

"Are you gonna bring it like that in the next game?" Michael asked, nudging his side.

"Oh, yeah."

"Oh, yeah? Well, good, 'cause if you win that, you're a county champion. That'd be pretty cool, huh?"

"Yep."

Maria sat across the table from them, watching them. Their interaction together was still so . . . natural. Just like it always had been. It was like they'd never even been apart.

Back from the bathroom, Sarah came to sit down beside them, next to Maria and across from Dylan. "Are those nachos any good?" she asked Michael. "I don't know if I wanna stand in line."

"Here, share mine," he offered, sliding them towards her.

Dylan seized the opportunity to reach forward and take a an especially cheesy chip out of the pile.

"Dylan!" Maria hissed.

"What?" he said innocently. "He said share."

"He was talking to Sarah."

Michael just chuckled, though. "It's fine."

"Yeah, he's the one who has to play again today. He can have 'em," Sarah said.

Dylan eyed her curiously and asked, "Who are you?"

 _Oh my god,_ Maria thought, worrying that her son was coming off as rude.

"Oh, me? I'm Sarah. We all went out to eat after your last game," she reminded him.

"Oh . . ." He lowered his head. "Yeah."

"Don't think about that last game," Michael told him quickly. "Think about the game you just won, alright? And how you won it. You guys were awesome."

"Okay," Dylan said, lifting up his head again. He ate another nacho chip, his eyes once again on Sarah. "Are you and Micho married?" he asked bluntly.

"Oh god, Dylan . . ." Maria groaned.

"No, it's okay," Sarah said calmly. "Um . . . no, we aren't married. I'm his girlfriend."

"Oh." He thought about it for a moment, then declared, "My mommy's my dad's girlfriend."

Maria glanced at Michael just long enough to see him roll his eyes.

"Yeah," Sarah said. "It's like that."

But Dylan just wouldn't stop. Like diarrhea of the mouth, he just kept talking. "My mom used to be Micho's girlfriend."

"Dylan!" she scolded again. "Can you, like . . . watch what you say a little bit? Please?"

"What?" He still didn't seem to think it was a big deal. "You were."

She looked at Michael, and he had that same unsure look on his face that she was sure was on hers. Neither one of them knew how to explain to Dylan that this just wasn't something they needed to be talking about.

When she looked over at Sarah, though, she felt better, because clearly it wasn't a big deal to her. She was as at ease with the whole thing as ever, and she was even laughing.

 _Okay, maybe it_ is _just funny then,_ Maria decided. Kids said the funniest things and what not. If Sarah didn't think it was awkward . . . then maybe it didn't need to be.

...

"Who are we?" Michael bellowed.

"Bulldogs!" the boys yelled.

"What're we gonna do?"

"Win!"

"When are we gonna do it?"

"Now!"

"Bulldogs on three. One, two, three!"

" _Bulldogs_!"

Michael had never seen his team more amped up than they were when they took the field for the championship game. Now that they had one victory under their belt, they had that confidence, that belief that they could actually go out there and do it. It was like all the losses had just faded away and didn't matter anymore.

"Alright, everybody, here we go!" the announcer blared. "The championship game between the Pound Elementary Bulldogs and the Lakewood Pioneers. Give it up for these youngsters as they get set to play."

Michael clapped, eyeing the other team's defense suspiciously. They were definitely aggressive. Too aggressive for this age division. "These refs better call the shit outta those guys," he said to Kyle.

"I know," Kyle said. "We can't afford for Luke to get hurt."

"The Pioneers are coached by Jack Whitestaff, and the Bulldogs are coached by head coach Michael Guerin, and assistant coach Kyle Valenti," the announcer droned on.

Michael turned around when he heard a loud, "Woo!" come from Sarah, and he smiled and shook his head at her. Didn't she know no one cheered for the coaches? Beside her, Maria had her hands clasped together in prayer position over her mouth. She looked nervous.

"Come on, let's get to it," Kyle groaned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy the game. Good luck to both teams," the announcer finally finished up. The ref set the ball down on the fifty yard line, and the two teams started to line up. It always took them a little while to get positioned.

"Alright, Bulldogs, let's go!" Michael bellowed. "Start strong now!"

It wasn't a bad start, but it could have been better. They were able to move the ball against the Pioneers, but only for a few short yards at a time. Luke completed his passes, and Dylan made his catches, and a few of the other kids got in there and made some stuff happen on the run game, too. But when they were down to the ten yard line, Charlie fumbled the snap, and Luke couldn't recover it. One of the smallest kids on the opposing team pounced on the loose football, and everyone else piled on top of him.

"Ooh." Michael cringed. "That's gonna hurt tomorrow." He remembered being at the bottom of piles like that. It was never pleasant.

Even though the fumble had been a bad play, the Pioneers couldn't make anything of it, and at the end of the first quarter, both teams were still scoreless. Halfway through the second quarter, though, the Pioneers surprised the hell out of him by sending out . . . a field goal kicker? Michael doubted it would work, even though it was only ten yards out. But dammit all to hell, that kid actually kicked the football through the goal posts.

"What?" Michael shrieked. "No way."

"Crap," Kyle muttered.

The whole Pioneers fan section went nuts, and even some of the Bulldogs fans seemed happy to finally have at least _some_ points on the board.

"Dammit," Michael swore. What kind of first grader could kick a field goal? There were a lot of high school teams that struggled with that. This kid must have been a soccer player or something. Soccer players usually had a knack for field goals.

With the opposing team up by three, Michael tried to rally his team's spirits, but they were starting to get those familiar looks of defeat on their faces. They played out the remainder of the quarter, and when halftime hit, Michael was thankful. He had to get these kids' heads back in the game.

"Listen up, you guys gotta fight for this," he said as he paced back and forth in front of them on the sidelines. They all looked exhausted. They were sitting down, panting for air, dumping water on their heads. This was a long, tiring, busy day for these little boys.

"Don't give up, alright?" he went on, looking to Kyle for help.

"Yeah, you know, Michael and I . . . we've been in games like this before," Kyle added, ditching one of his crutches so he could use the other one more like a cane. "We've been in positions where we had to come from behind. And you know what? We did, because we fought hard, and we knew we could do it."

"Do you guys think you can do it?" Michael asked them. "Do you think you can still win?"

Charlie, always the pessimist, yelled, "No!" but Dylan whacked his arm and said, "Shut up, Charlie!" and then exclaimed, "Yeah!" That got a few of the other kids to start agreeing with him.

"Then go out there and get it done," Michael told them. "This is your field, this is your game. You own this sh-" He trailed off abruptly when he realized he was about to swear in front of them, and he tried to cover it up by saying "—show of emotion . . ." the way Buzz from _Home Alone_ had. They all looked at him like he was crazy. "Alright, just head back out there," he said.

The motivational speeches must have done the trick, because the team looked a hell of a lot more energetic in the third quarter. Luke made a lot of short passes to Dylan and a few other kids, and he even channeled his inner Kyle Valenti and scrambled forward for a few yards when he had to. It took them a long time to get that ball down to the end zone, but when they did, Luke punched it in. Touchdown time.

"Yes!" Michael yelled, jumping into the air. Oh, they'd needed that.

"There he is!" Kyle hollered, obviously feeling very proud of his young protégée. "He's the man!"

"Touchdown, Bulldogs!" the announcer rang out. "They take the lead by three."

It didn't really matter whether or not they tried kicking an extra point or running a two-point conversion play, because neither one ever seemed to work. Michael knew no one on his team had the leg power to get that ball up between the goal posts, though, so he opted for the two-point try. A short little flick pass to Dylan. And hell, it actually worked. Two more points tacked on, and suddenly they were up by five. He started to get excited, because if they kept this lead, then the Pioneers couldn't send their freak of nature kicker out there to tie it up with another field goal.

Fourth quarter. All the boys were dragging by now. Neither side had given up by any means, but the strain of playing two games in one day was taking its toll. Most of these kids were probably used to enjoying naptime right about now. This was asking a lot of them.

"Tough on defense now!" Michael kept motivating them. "You guys got this. Just hold 'em back."

Unfortunately . . . they didn't hold 'em. To start the fourth quarter, the kid playing quarterback for the Pioneers found an opening, and he took it. He wasn't fast, but he was big, so he just bowled past anyone who was in his way. With sheer and utter determination, he plunged into the end zone, putting his team back up again.

Michael had to disguise his own disappointment. Kyle was better at it than he was. He just kept saying things like, "That's alright, guys! Now we get the ball back."

Pioneers brought the kicker kid out again, and he hammered through an extra point. The crowd seemed impressed, but since it was only worth one point, it only put the team up by two.

"We can do this," Michael said, more to himself than to his team. He was having flashbacks of his own failed moment in the spotlight, the moment of glory he'd literally let slip through his hands. This mattered to him, because he wanted these boys to be able to say they were champions. He wanted them to know from an early age that they _were_ somebody.

The rest of the quarter seemed to fly by, even though the action on the field was dragging. The teams started to go back and forth like they had during the first quarter, neither one of them scoring, nobody busting through to make a big play.

With time ticking down, he saw Dylan signaling to him that he needed a drink of water. He waved him over to the sideline and sent poor, hopeless Melvin out there in his place. Thankfully, Luke had the common sense to not make that one a pass play, and he just ran it instead, getting a few more yards. They weren't in a bad position at the twenty yard line with a minute and a half left to go. Luke could throw pretty far, and Michael was starting to think that was their best option, because the Pioneers' secondary was looking pretty depleted.

"You think you got a big play in you?" he asked Dylan.

Helmet off, gulping down a Styrofoam cup of water, Dylan just looked at him with wide, worried eyes.

"I think you do," he decided. "You can do it, buddy."

"I'm scared," Dylan said.

"Don't be scared," Michael told him. "You got this." He watched his team run another play, and it wasn't a positive one. Luke got pushed back three or four yards, and it brought up fourth down.

"This is it," Kyle said.

"Yep." Michael waited until the clock had ticked down to about ten seconds, then called his last timeout. If they did indeed get it in the end zone here, he didn't want to leave the other team any extra time to score again.

His team came over, all of them breathing hard and looking up at him with questioning eyes.

"Okay, Luke, you're gonna pass it," Michael instructed his quarterback.

"To me?" Melvin asked hopefully.

"No, not to you, Melvin." Poor kid didn't stand a chance. "To Dylan. All the way to the end zone."

Luke and Dylan exchanged a look, and Luke smiled confidently. Dylan must have been having flashbacks to last weekend's game, though, because he looked like his stomach was in knots.

"Offensive line's gotta stand strong," Michael reminded everyone. "Give him time to make that throw."

"You guys know you got this, right?" Kyle said. "You're gonna be champions."

The boys started to look excited, but Dylan still looked worried. All that usual eagerness just seemed zapped from his body.

"Alright, one last time," Michael said, putting his hand in the center of the circle. All the boys did the same. "Bulldogs on three. One, two, three!"

"Bulldogs!"

The boys trotted back out onto the field, but Dylan didn't go with them. He was holding his stomach now, as if he were going to be sick, but Michael knew it was just nerves.

"Hey," he said, kneeling down in front of him. "Just pretend like it's you and me, and we're out in the backyard throwin' the football around like we used to. Okay? There's no one else out there."

One of the refs impatiently blew his whistle, motioning for Michael to get Dylan back out on the field.

"Okay," Dylan said, managing a small smile.

"Okay. You got this, buddy." He quickly helped Dylan put his helmet back on, then gave him a pat on the back as he returned to the field.

"That kid loves you, man," Kyle said.

 _Yeah,_ Michael thought. _I love him, too._ He looked back up into the stands again. Sarah was holding up a phone and filming, and Maria just had her hands over her face, her eyes peeking out between her fingers.

"Looks like it's all gonna come down to this, folks," the announcer said. "The Bulldogs are either gonna win the game or lose it on this one play."

"God, I wish he'd shut up," Michael grumbled. He knew that when you were out on the field, you weren't really listening to anything the announcer was saying, but still . . . he didn't want to risk any of his players hearing that. They were already feeling enough pressure as it was.

He kept his eyes on Dylan, his heart pounding as fast and as loud as it would have been if he'd been the one out on the field. He knew Dylan could do this. He believed in him.

...

" _Alright, you ready?"_

 _Dylan nodded, holding his hands straight up in the air, as if he were signalling a touchdown._

 _"Okay, put your hands down a little bit," Michael instructed. "Like, by your face."_

 _Dylan immediately slapped his hands over his eyes._

 _"No, not_ on _your face."_

 _Maria laughed. She was sitting out on one of their rickety old lawn chairs, watching._

 _"He's gonna get it," Michael promised her. "Trust me." She didn't know it yet, but her son was going to grow up to be one hell of an athlete. Because he was going to teach him._

...

"He's gonna get it," he found himself saying as he tried to squash his own nerves. "He's gonna get it."

"Set!" Luke's high-pitched voice rang out. "Hike!"

It was a perfect snap. Luke had the ball in both hands and was moving around in the pocket, not rushed, not panicked. The protection around him held up nicely; none of the defenders moved through. He had at least five seconds to set up the play, and it was set up beautifully. Dylan ran towards the end zone, and there was only one guy with him.

Michael held his breath as Luke released the ball into the air. It sailed over everyone else in the field, a perfect pass straight in Dylan's direction. It was a little high, but Dylan leapt for it. It was in his hands . . .

 _Boom._ His feet hit the turf, and the ball was cradled right in his arms, right where it needed to be.

"Touchdown, Bulldogs!" the announcer proclaimed.

"Woohoo! Yeah!" Michael shouted, jumping up and down excitedly. Kyle ditched his other crutch quickly, and practically pounced on him. All their fans in the stands started to scream and shout with excitement, and on the field, the boys all ran towards Dylan, who was the picture of elation as he held the ball up in the end zone.

"And that's the ballgame folks. The Bulldogs win it on the last play, a pass to Dylan DeLuca. Your final score, fourteen to ten. Congratulations to the Pound Elementary Bulldogs for winning the Eddy County Youth Football Championship!"

"Woo!" Michael blasted, running right out onto the field to celebrate with his team. Kyle even came with him, albeit at a slower pace.

"Good job, guys!" he said, giving each of them a high-five as he walked past them. "Knew you could do it." Dylan was still in the end zone, just staring at the football in amazement now, as if he couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Come here, you," Michael said, bending down. Dylan threw his arms around him, hugging him eagerly.

"I'm so proud of you," Michael told him. From that very first night out in the backyard, he'd dreamed about seeing this day, this moment for this little boy.

"That was awesome!" Dylan exclaimed.

Michael smiled at him and agreed, "It was epic. You won that game. You did so good."

Dylan giggled, handed him the football, and said, "Thanks, Dad," and then ran right past him.

Michael remained knelt down there, momentarily stunned. Was that . . . had he just said . . . ?

He stood up and turned around. Dylan was running across the field to Maria, who was coming down from the bleachers with a bunch of the other parents. He ran to her and jumped into her arms.

 _He's excited,_ Michael figured. _He just won._ So what if Dylan had slipped back into old habits and called him Dad? They were county champions now, so for today, he could just let it slide.


	32. Chapter 32

Even though Max only felt like he'd been home for five minutes, he realized he'd nodded off for about half an hour when the front door opened and in flew Dylan, jolting him awake.

"Dad, guess what?" he said, jumping onto the couch. "We won!"

Max rubbed is eyes and yawned, trying to get his bearings. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Dylan started bouncing up and down, a bundle of energy and excitement.

 _Oh, man,_ he thought regretfully. _I wish I could've been there to see it._ "That's awesome," he said. "Good job."

Maria kicked off her shoes and came to join them, perching herself on the arm of the couch. "It was amazing. He scored a touchdown in the first game, and then in the second game, he ended up scoring the game-winner."

"What? _Wow._ " Max held up his hand for a high five, and Dylan gave it to him.

"Yeah! It was like . . . _wham_!" he babbled hopping down off the couch. "And I was like . . ." He proceeded to act out the entire play, though he was mostly just spinning all around and flailing his arms.

"He's a little hyper," Maria said, handing him her phone. "Here, I recorded as much as I could. But I was so nervous at the end that Sarah had to film it."

"Oh, Sarah was there again, huh?" he said.

"Yep." She smiled sympathetically and said, "I wish you could've been there."

"Yeah." As fun as it was to see Dylan so overjoyed, it didn't compare to the real thing. He'd missed a huge moment in Dylan's life, one that he would always remember. But what could he do? He had to work. He had to make money so he could provide for them.

"Alright, champ, I think it's time for a victory bath," Maria announced.

Dylan stopped whirling around and pouted exaggeratedly. "Do I hafta?"

"Yes. You got really dirty today."

He gave her a mischievous look, and Max knew what was going to happen before Dylan even took off running. This was their nightly routine. He ran around the house, and she eventually caught him and got him in the tub. He seemed to hate baths less, however, when they made a game out of it.

"I'm gonna get you!" she squealed, taking off after him.

Max kicked his legs up onto the coffee table and found the videos on Maria's phone, settling in to watch them. This was the next best thing to actually being there.

...

Sarah had texted Tess periodically throughout the day to update her on how the game was going, so she knew the team had won before Kyle got home and started raving about it. It was almost surreal to see him so animated. He couldn't—and in fact _wouldn't_ —stop talking about it. He was up on his feet and everything. No chair. No support. Just him and his stories about all the great plays these kids had made today.

 _This is it,_ she thought, working up her inner courage as she watched him and only halfway listened. _It's the right time._

"Oh, Tess, you should've been there," he said for the umpteenth time. "It was amazing. It was huge. It was huge for these kids."

Surely it was a big deal to them, but she sensed that it was an even bigger deal to him. Maybe he didn't even realize it, but something about coaching this team and being out on the field again, even in a non-player capacity . . . it had sparked a liveliness in him, one that had been buried for a long, long time.

And that was why it was time to tell him. Tonight.

"Wow, Kyle," she said, hearing the lingering traces of nervousness in her own voice. "That sounds amazing."

"It was." He walked over to the couch, but instead of sitting down, he just stood there, smiling and shaking his head as though he still couldn't believe it had happened.

"Well, I'm really glad you guys won," she said, moving towards him, fretfully wringing her fingers together. "Actually, I'm really glad you're in such a good mood right now, because there's—there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

He was so caught up in his own excitement, though, that he wasn't really listening. "Oh, I didn't even tell you about the trophy they won."

"Kyle . . ." She didn't care about the trophy.

"I mean, this thing is bigger than half the kids on the team. I'm not even exaggerating."

"Kyle." She couldn't keep this from him any longer.

"I won plenty of games when I was young, but I don't think they ever gave me a trophy like that."

"Kyle, I'm pregnant." The words fled her mouth abruptly; there was nothing she could do to stop them. And once they were out, she literally held her breath.

He became so quiet so quickly that it scared her. Right away, there was this confused, caught-off-guard look on his face, and his whole body sort of just . . . froze.

"What?" he finally managed to choke out.

Clearly he'd heard her. Why did she have to say it again? "I'm pregnant," she repeated, holding one hand to her stomach. She tried to smile, but it was a shaky grin at best, and it gave way almost immediately. "Kyle, say something," she begged, needing to know how he was feeling about this, what he was thinking.

He didn't say anything, though. Instead, he did the worst thing he possibly could have done in that moment: He sat down on the couch.

"I know it wasn't . . . planned," she acknowledged meekly, looking down at him, "but . . ." Her breathing was starting to come more rapidly now, sped up by anxiety. "Kyle, I really need you to . . . just react," she told him.

"I don't . . . what am I supposed to say?" he sputtered unsurely. "How did this happen?"

She gave him a look. Did he really need an explanation?

"No, I mean . . . I know _how_ ," he said, "but . . . weren't you on the pill?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

" _But_?"

"It's just—I wasn't really taking it every day," she admitted.

" _What_?" he shrieked. "What's the point of it then?"

"Kyle, we hardly ever have sex," she pointed out. "I didn't think-"

"Yeah, well, you should've thought about it."

She huffed, hating the harshness of his tone. "Well, guess what: It takes two, guy-with-no-condom."

"So you're saying this is my fault?"

"No! It's—it's no one's _fault_." She hated that he would even use that word to describe their . . . situation. Despite that, she tried to maintain her cool, because she knew that one of them would need to. And clearly that wasn't going to be him. "Look, I always assumed we'd start a family someday. Even back in high school, we always used to talk about it."

"Yeah, but it was gonna be down the road."

She motioned wildly about their house and said, "We _are_ down the road."

"Not really. You're twenty years old, Tess. I'm only twenty-one."

She knew he was trying to use their age to point out how young they still were, but in all honesty, she hadn't felt young for one second since he'd taken that fateful hit on that stupid field. "We're not kids anymore, Kyle."

"That doesn't mean . . ." He trailed off, digging one hand through his hair, lowering his head, moaning, "Oh my god," as though the thought of this actually pained him.

"I'm sorry, but are you not the least bit happy?" she asked, fighting to keep her panicked tears inside where they belonged. "Because a minute ago you were _so_ happy."

"I was," he agreed.

"Okay, 'cause I just thought—I don't know—maybe finding out you're gonna be a dad would excite you a little more than winning a football game would."

"How did you expect me to react?" he barked out angrily.

"Not like this." Despite all her best efforts to not cry, a few tears spilled over, and she had to wipe them away. "God, I thought you would be, like, yeah, scared and stuff, but . . . supportive, too."

"Supportive?" he echoed as though he didn't even understand what the word meant. "I can't . . . god, Tess, I can't . . ."

"You can't what?" she prompted. "You can't support this?"

"No, maybe I can't."

When he said that . . . it felt like her whole stomach just dropped to the floor. She felt like she was going to be sick.

"Look at me!" he cried. "Look at me, Tess!"

She squeezed her eyes shut as more tears fell over, and she shook her head adamantly. No, she didn't want to look at him. Not when he was like this.

"I'm not even the same guy I used to be! I'm not the guy you fell in love with."

A giant sob shook her body, and she covered up her face with one hand, keeping the other on her stomach.

"I can't do any of the things I used to do!" he went on, like one giant wail of agony. "What's gonna happen when we our kid wants me to run around and play tag with him? Or play football?"

"Then you'll coach him," she whimpered, "just like you did all those kids today."

"No, it's not . . . it's not the same!" he yelled. "You don't get it!"

 _No,_ she thought. _I don't._

"What if we have a daughter, and she wants me to walk her down the aisle someday? And I can't do that."

"You can walk!" she yelled back at him.

"Not like I used to!"

"That doesn't matter, Kyle!" God, she felt like pulling her hair out; he was being so ridiculous. It was like he was just permanently stuck in the past, and no matter how many times she tried to reach him and pull him out . . . he just stayed there.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, but there didn't seem to be much genuine sentiment behind it. "I know this isn't what you wanna hear, but . . . I don't know what to tell you. I'm just not ready to be a dad."

She snorted, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure you have much choice in that."

He didn't say anything. But he didn't have to. He got this stern, sudden look on his face, and as he stared at nothing in particular, she could see him . . . _thinking._ Considering options.

"Oh my god," she gasped, horrified. "Kyle . . ." He wouldn't actually suggest it. Would he? "No."

"Tess . . ."

"Don't." Her heart would seriously break into pieces if he even said it.

"I don't think you should you have this baby, Tess."

And just like that . . . it shattered. She felt like it was glass, and that cruel suggestion was a giant sledgehammer slamming onto it mercilessly. "What?" she barely managed to choke out.

"I just . . . I don't think you should," he repeated quietly, his voice cloaked with emotion. He swallowed hard and averted her eyes, clearly ashamed.

She staggered around a bit, literally feeling dizzy, barely able to keep her balance. Was this really happening? It couldn't be. Because there was no way . . . even though he was depressed and not himself, there was no _way_ Kyle would tell her to get an abortion.

"Get out," she growled, barely even able to look at him without hating him in that moment. She didn't want to see his face. She didn't want to hear his voice. She wanted him gone.

"Tess . . ." He actually had the audacity to reach up and grab her hand, but she jerked it away from him.

"I said get out!" She backed away, glaring at him in outrage. How dare he even try to touch her after all of this. She wouldn't let him.

Seemingly resigned, he pushed himself up off the couch and stumbled over to his wheelchair. He got into it and wheeled himself past her wordlessly. He had to lean forward to open the door, and he didn't bother to reach back to shut it on his way out. So she stomped over there and slammed it for him, then leaned back against it, slid down to the floor, and sobbed.

...

Sarah had this special paper to print photos on, so when they got home, she wasted no time printing off the picture of the team posing with their trophy. Dylan and Luke were in the front row, each with a hand on it, and Michael and Kyle were standing on either side of the back row.

"Here we go," she said as she latched it into a picture frame. She carefully hung it up on the wall right to the side of their TV. When she seemed sure it was straight, she stepped back and declared, "Perfect."

"That looks good," Michael agreed. The trophy itself was sitting on the floor below that picture. He was going to have to take it to school on Monday and see if there was any kind of trophy case where they could display it. It wasn't real gold, obviously, but it was shiny and flashy as hell. Engraved on the bottom were the words _2015 Champions: Eddy County Youth Football_.

"You did a good thing with that team, Michael," Sarah said, swaying towards him.

"Yeah, they picked the right day to show up and win, huh?" That was the nice thing about youth football. The rest of the season didn't matter.

"It's about more than just winning," she said. "It's teamwork and confidence and all that good stuff."

"Yeah." Those boys were definitely going to have more confidence now, and they'd worked together pretty well. "I guess I did alright."

"You did better than alright. In fact . . ." She hooked her hands into his belt loops and pulled his waist closer to hers. "I think we should have a victory celebration."

"A victory celebration?" he echoed, grinning. "How are we gonna celebrate?" As if he didn't already know.

"However you want," she answered flirtatiously.

 _Hell yeah._ He lifted her up and set her down on the kitchen table, immediately moving himself in between her legs as he kissed her. His tongue jutted into her mouth right away, and his hand slithered up under her shirt. She'd already gotten dressed in her pajamas, so she was braless. Perfect.

Just as he'd started to caress her, though, there was a loud knock on the door. He stilled, groaned, and told her, "Hold that thought," as he went to see who it was.

He'd barely opened the door and said, "Kyle," when Shango hopped down off the couch and raced forward, jumping up into Kyle's lap. Kyle started petting him right away. "What're you doin' here?" Michael asked him.

Instead of answering, he just said, "Can I come in?"

"Sure." Michael stepped aside, opening the door as wide as he could so that Kyle could maneuver his wheelchair inside. It was crowded, that was for sure. This small apartment really wasn't designed for such a bulky thing.

Michael shut the door and shot Sarah a quick look. Her expression was a questioning one, but he didn't know why Kyle was there any more than she did, so he just shrugged.

"Hey, Kyle," she greeted, sliding down off the table.

"Oh, hey, Sarah," he mumbled, trying to wheel himself in front of the couch. There were a few books on the floor in the way, though, so eventually he just locked his chair into place, got up, and took three steps towards the couch, sitting down eagerly, still with Shango in his lap.

"What's up, man?" Michael asked, unlocking the chair so he could fold it up and push it aside. "Haven't had your fill of me today?"

Kyle didn't laugh. Didn't even crack a smile.

"Did you wheel yourself all the way over here?" Michael asked him.

"Well, I sure as hell didn't drive, did I?" he snapped back.

"Sorry. Just askin'." Kyle had to be driven everywhere, because he still didn't have enough motor control to operate a vehicle. "You okay?"

"No." He kept petting Shango, never looking up from the dog. "Tess and I got in a fight."

Michael looked over at Sarah again. He could tell they were both thinking the same thing: _She told him._ It seemed . . . pretty obvious, but he asked anyway, "About what?"

Kyle sighed and revealed, "She's pregnant." Except it wasn't much of a reveal at all, and when he looked up and saw both of them trying to act surprised, he saw right through it. "And you both knew."

"Kyle, she asked us not to say anything," Sarah told him.

"I haven't known for long," Michael added.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Kyle's eyes were full of anger and accusation, but it was all directed at Michael, not at Sarah.

" 'cause I promised Tess I wouldn't. She had to be the one to tell you. You know that, man." It didn't matter that they were best friends. He would have had _no_ right to spill the beans about this. "So I take it you're not handling it well," he deduced. Wasn't a hard deduction.

"How am I supposed to raise a kid?" Kyle wailed. "Honestly, I can't even take care of myself. I'm so fucked up."

"Well . . ." Michael couldn't really argue that, but at least things had been better these past couple weeks. He sat down beside him, speculating, "Maybe having a kid would help motivate you to get better. I mean, Luke and Dylan and all those guys on the team . . . they motivated you."

Kyle shook his head. "That's different."

"How?"

"It just is."

"Kyle?" Sarah walked softly into the living room, halfway cringing when she asked, "What exactly did you say to Tess that made you come all the way over here?"

"I just told her how I feel."

"What'd you say?" Michael prodded. It must have been pretty bad.

Kyle sighed, drew it out for a few seconds, then muttered, "I told her I don't wanna be a dad."

"Well, you're gonna be," Michael responded simply.

"Not necessarily."

"What're you-?" He trailed off abruptly when he sensed what Kyle was talking about. He thought about Max and Maria and that whole situation, and how fucked up that had all been, and he couldn't even believe his best friend would consider doing the same thing. "Oh, no. No. You can't leave her to fend for herself here. Come on, man, she shouldn't have to do this alone."

"Maybe she shouldn't do it at all," he grumbled.

It took a second for that to sink it, but when it did, Sarah let out a little gasp, and Michael's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" he roared, shooting to his feet.

"I'm just saying, it's an option."

"Are you . . ." He threw his hands up in disbelief. ". . . _fucking_ kidding me? Are you out of your mind? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Well, my spine, for starters."

"What the hell is your fucking problem?" he blasted. "Tess tells you she's pregnant, and this is how you react?"

"Michael . . ." Sarah said softly, as if to caution him not to get too mad.

"No, this is bullshit!" he yelled, literally resisting the urge to smack some sense into this guy he used to look up to. "Do you know where I'd be right now if my dad had gotten his way? I wouldn't be anywhere; I wouldn't exist. We wouldn't be having this conversation." Just thinking about it made a chill run up his spine. "Is that what you want for your kid? Do you really just wanna _abort_ your own _child_?"

"No!" Kyle said.

"Then why would you even consider it?"

"I just . . ." Kyle whole face contorted as he started to cry. "I don't know. I'm so confused. I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

Sarah scampered into the bedroom to find her phone, undoubtedly to call Tess and check in on her.

"Did you suggest this to Tess?" Michael kept on. "Did you tell her to get an abortion?"

"Not in those exact words."

"But you implied it." Michael snorted, astonished, and paced back and forth a bit, more pissed off than he'd been in a long time. "God, you're really a son of a bitch right now, Kyle. I can't believe we're even talkin' about this."

"Oh, well, sorry, Michael," Kyle apologized sarcastically. "Sorry I'm not more like you. Sorry I'm not gonna jump at the first chance I get to be a father, even though it's obvious I'm not ready for it."

Michael winced inwardly, glancing over at Sarah. She had frozen and tensed up mid-dial, and she frowned a bit. But then she kept dialing.

"You're an ass right now," Michael flat-out told him.

"Fine, I'm an ass."

"Um, Kyle?" Sarah piped up. "Tess isn't answering."

"She probably won't," he said.

"Maybe I should go over there?" she proposed.

"No, just give her some space," he said. "She's upset."

"Imagine that," Michael grumbled.

"Can I just stay here tonight?" Kyle practically begged, his voice quivering. "Please?" He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he laid down on the couch, and he seemed literally heartbroken when Shango jumped down and he couldn't pet him anymore. It was like that had been the only thing making him feel better.

Too pissed to even talk to him anymore, Michael left him there to wallow in self-pity and shuffled towards Sarah, mumbling unhappily, "Guess our celebration's gonna have to wait."

...

Even though he was tired as hell, Michael got up early to drive Kyle back home. Tess had sent Sarah a few text messages last night telling her not to worry and that she was going to be okay, but she and Kyle weren't going to be okay as a couple if they stayed apart for too long. Michael knew that the sooner Kyle got his ass back home, manned up, and apologized, the better off they would be.

"So where's your head at today?" he asked as he unloaded the wheelchair from the trunk of his car.

"Still all over the place," Kyle admitted.

Michael slammed his trunk shut, unfolded the chair, and wheeled it over to Kyle. "What're you gonna say to her?" he asked.

Kyle shrugged and sat down. "Start with sorry and go from there, I guess."

" _Are_ you sorry?" Michael challenged. It'd be worthless if he didn't really mean it.

"Yeah," Kyle confessed. "I don't . . ." He shook his head as Michael wheeled him forward. "I don't really want her to get an abortion. I don't even know why I said that."

Well, clearly having a night to sleep on this life-changing revelation had been good for Kyle. He'd calmed down a lot, and Michael had calmed down a lot, and now maybe there was some actual hope that Tess could forgive him for being such a monumental jackass.

"Sorry I chewed you out," Michael said as he pushed Kyle up the ramp to his front door.

"No, I probably needed it," Kyle mumbled in admittance. "Thanks, man."

"No problem." Michael leaned forward and twisted the doorknob, opening it up. "Tess?" he called. He pushed Kyle inside and shut the door behind him. It was almost eerily quiet in that house. He was so used to hearing the TV on when he came over.

"Tess?" Kyle said quietly.

"Doesn't seem like she's home," Michael remarked. "Her car was gone. Is she at work?"

"I don't think so." Kyle held on tightly to the arms of his chair and pushed himself up into a standing position. He slowly made his way into the living room, and Michael decided to go check back in the bedroom.

"Tess?" he said as he opened up the door and peeked in. But she wasn't in there, either. There were clothes strewn all about, though, and the closet door was hanging open. It looked . . . almost empty.

 _Oh, shit,_ he thought, sensing that he already knew where Tess was. He checked the bathroom, opening up the cabinets to find that they were half empty, too. It was like all her stuff wasn't there.

When he got back out to the living room, Kyle was just sitting there on the couch, looking lost and dumbfounded as he held a small paper in his hand. "She's gone," he said dazedly.

 _Fuck._ He should have brought Kyle back last night instead of letting him crash on his couch.

Michael went up to him and took the note out of his hand, giving it a quick read-through. Just as he'd thought, she said she went back to Roswell to go stay with her family. The last line said, _Now you don't have to be a dad._

Michael sighed, worrying that there wasn't going to be a way to fix this big of a problem. Tess had never left Kyle before, even though she'd probably thought about it dozens of times.

He handed the note back to his devastated friend, and Kyle stared at it hopelessly for a few seconds before crumpling it in his hand before leaning forward to shut his eyes and hang his head. He looked the worst Michael had ever seen him look, even worse than he'd been in the hospital when they'd told him that his football career was over. And that was saying something.

...

When Michael got back from Kyle's, he found Sarah on the couch, studying.

"Hey," she said. "How's Tess?"

"I don't know," he replied. "She left."

"What?" Sarah immediately checked her phone, as if she'd expected Tess to text her about that or something.

"Went home," he said, flopping down beside her on the middle cushion that sank in a little too far. "So you know what that means? Now I gotta drag my ass back to Roswell, get her, and bring her back here so she and Kyle can work things out."

"Do you think they can?" she asked.

"I hope so." If Kyle didn't have Tess . . . then he'd really have nothing. When Michael had left him, he'd had the remote in his hand and was channel surfing, claiming he'd be okay, but honestly, he didn't want to leave him alone there too long. Isolation wasn't good for a guy like Kyle.

"Well, he seemed like he was doing better this morning," Sarah remarked.

"Yeah. He's pretty catatonic right now, though. That's why I have to get Tess back here."

"Maybe I should go with you," she suggested. "Or I could go and you could stay here with Kyle."

"It's fine. I got it," he assured her. "I know exactly where she lives. I'll be there and back in no time." He got to his feet and headed over to the dresser to find some different clothes to wear. The shirt he had on right now was the one he'd slept in last night.

"Hey, Michael?"

"Yeah?" He sniffed a grey Metallica t-shirt, figuring it would do, and peeled off his old one.

"What did Kyle mean when he said he wasn't like you?" she inquired. "Something about being a dad without actually being ready for it?"

Michael groaned on the inside, stopping what he was doing. He just stood there for a moment with the shirt in his hand, silently lamenting that he was now going to have to tell her yet _another_ thing about his past. "A couple years ago . . ." he said, "Maria and I thought she might be pregnant. But she wasn't. Obviously." There. Enough said. He put the new shirt on, eager to get out on the road and get this done.

"But you were . . . excited about it?" she asked.

"Well, no. I mean, I was eighteen. But I wasn't . . . I wasn't dreading it, either." It was a confusing thing for him to think about, even now.

"Were you disappointed that she wasn't?"

He shut the dresser drawer, mumbling, "A little bit." Shit, if he had to tell her all this stuff, he'd better at least be honest about it. "I was young. Stupid. Naïve. Thought I could handle it. Hindsight's twenty-twenty, of course." He made his way behind the couch, bent down, and kissed the top of her head. "I'll be back later." And then he practically bolted, not only because it was best to get Tess back to Carlsbad as soon as possible, but also because he just didn't want to go any more in-depth in this conversation.

...

 _Fucking Roswell._

Words couldn't describe the dark cloud that hovered over Michael from the moment he crossed the city limits. He kept reminding himself that it would just be a quick trip. In and out. Just like sex. Only less pleasurable.

Even with that mindset, though, he found himself taking a detour from the route to Tess's house, driving the familiar streets towards his own instead. Taking a left instead of a right, hitting the brakes when he should have kept going. He pulled up outside his house, figuring that, even though he was popping in unannounced, someone was likely to be there. It was Sunday morning, after all. Wasn't like they'd be in church or anything.

His mom's car wasn't in the driveway, but he headed up to the front door anyway. It was locked, so he used his key to let himself in, and right away . . .

"Jesus Christ," he swore. Nicholas was on top of Tina on the couch, and they were making out. Hands _everywhere_. Not a sight he wanted to see.

"Michael!" Tina gasped in surprise, squirming up into a seated position. "What're you doing here?"

He ignored her and spoke straight to Nicholas. "Get out."

Nicholas, like the idiot he was, just sat there, sputtering, "I—I didn't—I wasn't-"

"Get out," Michael repeated vehemently, "before I punch your face in."

Nicholas stumbled to his feet, sidestepping past Michael with his hands up, as if to shield himself. Once he was out the door, he literally ran.

"God, Michael," Tina said, grabbing a pillow to hold over her stomach. "You didn't have to be so mean."

"No, actually, I did," he argued, shutting the door. "I'm your big brother, remember?"

"You scared him."

"Good." Kid was a wimp anyway.

She rolled her eyes.

"Where's Mom?" he asked. Tina was pretty brazen these days, but he doubted even _she'd_ be daring enough to do this shit with their mom around.

"She's at the store," Tina replied.

"Oh, so while she's out getting groceries, you're getting felt up."

"He _is_ my boyfriend, you know."

"I _really_ don't care, you know." He headed into the kitchen, got a bottle of water out of the fridge, took a swig, and went back in the living room, finding that he wished she would move that pillow. He wanted to see how big she was at this point so he had a better idea of how much time he had left to talk some sense into her about her decision.

"Why are you here?" she asked him again.

He didn't sit down, only because he didn't intend to stay long. "Gotta get Tess."

"Tess?" she echoed. "She's here?"

"Yeah."

For a second, her eyes lit up. "Is Kyle?" It was like that old childhood crush she'd had on him still existed.

"No. They're, uh . . . they're having problems."

"Oh." She grimaced. "That sucks."

"Yeah, you'd better hope they work it out."

"Why?"

" 'cause if even Tess and Kyle don't end up together, there's really no hope for you and Nicholas, is there?"

"Oh." She made a face and fake-laughed. "God, you're a jerk today."

He shrugged unapologetically. "I don't wanna be here."

"So leave."

"I will." He just stood there, though, and she kept looking at him expectantly. In the back of his mind, he knew what he wanted to say to her; he just didn't know if there was any point to it.

"What?" she finally said.

"It's just . . ." He narrowed his eyes at her, hating this whole icy demeanor/bitchy attitude she had going on. The teen years were just starting, too. He was going to have to deal with a lot more of this. "I heard what you said to Maria."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"She told me."

Tina's eyebrows rose up, as if she were intrigued now. " _Really_?"

"Yeah." He didn't want to make it seem like they were just casually hanging out all the time, though, so he added, "In class."

"Right, the class," she said. "Are you guys still gonna talk and hang out and stuff after that's done?"

"We're not hanging out," he denied.

"Not at all?"

"No. Well . . ." There were the football games and stuff, but that was different. "Sarah's been gettin' to know her a little bit."

"Does she like her?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think she _really_ likes her?"

"Yeah, she-" _Fuck,_ he thought, realizing she'd tricked him into getting off topic. "Would you just answer the question?"

"I forget the question," she said with a flippant shrug.

"Why'd you lay into Maria when she was here? She was just tryin' to help you."

"Uh, she didn't help, first of all," Tina informed him. "And second . . . she deserved it. She broke up with you, remember?"

"People break up," he said. "You and Nicholas are probably gonna break up someday. Are you gonna hold that against him?"

"We're not gonna break up," she insisted blindly.

"Oh, that's right, you won't. 'cause you live in perfect fairytale land." He smirked.

She glared at him. "Michael. You're not seriously mad at me for fighting with Maria, are you? I just said all the things you wanted to say."

"No, you didn't."

Stubbornly, she sat back, crossing her arms and her legs. "She didn't love you."

"You don't even know what you're talking about. You made her feel like crap, and all she was doing was trying to give you some advice."

"I didn't ask for advice," she reminded him. "And I didn't ask for a lecture."

"But maybe you need one." He shook his head, completely _disgusted_ with her attitude. Somewhere deep down inside, he knew there were still the remnants of young girl who was terrified of the path she was on. But until she _wanted_ to put those pieces of herself back together, there wasn't much he could do. "You know what? Screw it," he decided. "I can't talk to you when you're like this." He headed for the door, but just as he opened it, she called him back.

"Michael."

Annoyed, he stopped and looked back at her.

"You have to be careful with Maria," she warned, her eyes locked with his as she said it, "because if you're not . . . Tess and Kyle won't be the only couple having problems."

That had to be the first thing she'd said since he walked in that wasn't dripping with teenage dramatics. In fact, she actually sounded like she was sincerely cautioning him. And he couldn't deny that hearing her say that . . . it put him on edge a little.

"I'm serious," she said.

Yeah, he knew she was. But he was serious, too, when he suggested, "Worry about your own life. I got mine under control." Overwhelmed with disappointment in the way this whole conversation had gone, he left, wishing now that he'd never even stopped by in the first place.

...

A kid with blonde hair came to the door when Michael rang the bell. Which younger brother was this? He couldn't remember. "Hi," he said. "Is Tess here?"

"Tess!" the kid yelled shrilly, letting Michael come inside.

Tess's family's house was so big and nice—the total opposite of where she and Kyle lived now—that Michael felt obligated to take his shoes off at the door. He waited for Tess to come downstairs, and when she did, she didn't look particularly thrilled to see him.

"Took you longer than I thought," she muttered.

"Did Sarah tell you I was coming?" he asked.

"No. But I knew you would. You are gonna be a counselor, after all."

"Well, not a marriage one."

She grunted. "Good thing Kyle and I aren't married then." She sat down on the second to last step of the staircase, sighing. "Look, Michael, I know you're just here to help, and you want us to work things out, but . . . I just don't know if that's possible."

"It's possible," he assured her, sitting down next to her. "He wants to."

"No, you didn't hear what he said," she mumbled, sounding . . . resigned. Defeated. "And even if you knew, you'd still defend him, because he's, like, your bromantic soul mate or whatever. And that's fine. I get it. I really do. It's just-"

"I know what he said," Michael cut in. "He told me."

"He did?" She sounded surprised. "Well, then hopefully you can understand why I didn't wanna stick around."

"I understand," he said, "but you're gonna have a baby with this guy."

"Am I?" She dabbed at her eyes as she started to cry. "Because he made it pretty clear he has no interest in that."

"He's just freaked out," Michael assured her. "And I know that doesn't excuse half the shit he said, but he's already doin' better now that he's had a night to sleep on it. I promise you, Tess, if you come back with me, you guys can work things out."

"I don't even know if I want to anymore," she pondered sadly. "Maybe I am just better off doing this on my own."

"Kyle can be a good dad," Michael insisted. "You know he can. That guy who used to sit and talk baby names with you . . . that guy still exists. Trust me. I saw him every second he was with those kids on the team. He's still there, Tess."

She sniffled, shaking her head doubtfully. "I don't know . . ."

"He's still there," Michael reiterated. Maybe if he said it enough, she'd start to believe it.

"He wanted me to have an _abortion_ , Michael," she ground out. "Do you have any idea what it was like to hear him say that?"

"He doesn't really want that," Michael assured her. "His emotions were just all over the place, and I don't even think he really knew what he was saying."

"Well, he still said it."

"He's not sayin' it now. Tess . . ." He understood her resistance, but he'd get down on his knees and beg if he had to. "Just come back with me. Give him another chance."

She squeezed her eyes shut, put her hands over her face, and cried. She couldn't say anything, but she nodded wordlessly, and he got the message.

"Come here," he said, putting his arm around her, pulling her into a hug against his side. He sensed she'd been wanting to cry like this for a long time, so he figured he could just sit there with her while she let it all out. And then they could go home.


	33. Chapter 33

The house felt so quiet, so still, like only ghosts lived there or something. Kyle sat with the TV on, but he couldn't really watch anything. Couldn't really do anything. All he could do was sit and wait until Tess walked in. Michael had texted him a little over an hour ago and said they were on their way back, but until he actually saw her come through that door, he'd be holding his breath.

The first thing he did when he heard her come in was to stand up, because the last thing she probably wanted to see was his ass on that damn couch, even though that was where it had been all day.

She carried a couple of big bags that looked like they weighed as much as she did, and she dropped them in the living room. Behind her, Michael set down a few more. Kyle looked at him and nodded appreciatively, silently communicating his thanks, even though he'd thank him for real later. Wordlessly, Michael nodded back, and then he left.

Kyle felt like he had to say something, like he had to say it right away, too, or it'd be too late. "Look, Tess, I'm sorry-"

"Kyle," she cut him off. "I came back. One step at a time." She picked up one of her duffle bags, dragged it down the hallway into the bedroom, and shut the door.

 _One step at a time,_ Kyle thought, resigned to reconciling over a longer period of time than he'd anticipated. He looked down at his feet, glued in place on that carpet, and for the first time in a long time, he felt . . . determination. _Get to steppin'._

...

Maria chewed on the end of her pen, halfheartedly looking through the notes she compiled for Music Appreciation class. With finals only a few weeks away, she'd decided to get an early start on the studying, because she wanted to do well. Mostly she wanted to do better than Michael, but since he was studying with her, that probably wouldn't happen.

They sat together in 'the lounge,' which was the nickname given to the largest study area in the student union. It was supposed to be super quiet, and it usually was. But it was almost too quiet. Maria couldn't stand it. It almost made it even harder for her to focus.

"So Dylan said the principal made some kind of announcement yesterday," she said quietly, "about how they won the championship.

Across the table, Michael briefly glanced up from the pages he was reading. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. He thought it was pretty cool."

"It is cool," he agreed.

She chewed on her pen cap a little more, until she was thoroughly disgusted with it and had to set it down. "Are you gonna coach them again next year?"

"Hope so," he said. "But I'll be done with my practicum so . . . I don't know."

Dylan was going to miss him if he didn't get to see him as much. But . . . then again, maybe in a way that would be a good thing. "Is your practicum just a semester thing?" she asked.

"Yeah."

 _Just like this class,_ she thought. Once Christmas break hit, she'd be enrolled in Music Appreciation 2, and Michael would be back in all his psychology classes where he belonged. These little study sessions wouldn't exist, and the three days a week that she saw him would be reduced to . . . maybe just one. If that. _Weird,_ she thought. Never had she expected that having a class with him would actually start to feel normal.

"So . . ." She cleared her throat, and someone shushed her. Apparently she was being too loud. She didn't really care, but she kept her voice as quiet as possible and asked, "How's Tess?"

Finally, he glanced up without looking right back down at the book in his lap again. "What do you mean?"

She gave him a knowing look. Was it really necessary to even answer that question?

"What?" he said. "What is that? What is that look? Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't."

"Seriously?" She couldn't tell if he was playing dumb or if he was just really that clueless about what she was asking. "She's pregnant, right?"

He sat up straighter, his whole body suddenly on alert. "How'd you know about that?"

"I overheard her throwing up at the mall last week," she explained. "Plus, as a formerly pregnant woman myself, I can kind of just tell. It's like a sixth sense." She actually respected that he _hadn't_ told her, though. It was good of him to keep Tess's secret.

"Well, now that Kyle knows, I guess there's no harm in other people knowing," he said.

"How far along is she?"

"Not far. Not as far as Tina."

By Maria's estimation then, Tess would probably have the baby around the time spring semester ended. She'd have a busy summer ahead of her. "God, I feel like everyone's getting pregnant," Maria admitted.

"I know, Sarah and I were saying the same thing. And my friend Steve and his wife Cheryl just had a baby, too."

"Uh-oh, you better watch out," she cautioned. "You might be next."

"I don't think so," he said swiftly.

He didn't? For some reason, that prompted her to ask, "Have you guys ever talked about that kind of thing?"

"What, having kids?"

"Yeah." Maybe it was none of her business. Maybe she shouldn't have even asked.

"Briefly, I guess," he answered. "I mean, obviously we wanna finish college first."

"Obviously," she echoed, wishing she'd had that luxury.

Apparently realizing how she could have taken that the wrong way, he apologized, "Sorry."

"It's fine." If Michael's life went in the logical order, that would be good for him. Kids _after_ college. That was the way it was supposed to be. "You probably wanna get married first, too, right?" she supposed, not even sure why she was mentioning it.

"Yeah, probably," he agreed.

When she thought about it, pictured him sliding an engagement ring onto Sarah's finger the way he'd once slid one onto hers . . . it made her a little reminiscent, and a lot territorial. But _clearly_ that was the direction they were headed, and everyone would be really happy about it. Because they were a good match. A really good one.

"Do you think that's gonna happen before you graduate?" she asked, just wondering if she'd be getting an invitation in the next year or so. At this point, it didn't seem unlikely.

"I don't know," he said. "We haven't really . . . thought that far ahead."

She stared at him skeptically, having a hard time believing that. Maybe he hadn't, but surely Sarah had. Or maybe he really _had_ thought that far ahead, and he was just lying so she wouldn't feel bad.

...

All this studying was making Maria's brain feel like mush. She'd never had the greatest attention span, at least not academically. She'd gone from doing her own homework to helping Dylan with his after school, and even though his was easy for her, it was extremely difficult for him. Subtraction. Since when did kindergarteners do subtraction? She didn't remember learning it until the second grade.

"So what's the answer?" she asked, sitting at his little desk with him.

"Um . . . seven," he guessed.

"Seven?" So far, math was not proving to be his strong point. "Nine." She heard the front door open, and she wanted to go say hi to Max and see how his day had been, so she told Dylan, "Try the next one."

He groaned and continued laboring away as she got up and left the room. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he would just have a whole page of random numbers written down when she came back.

"Hey, Max," she said as she headed out into the kitchen, "Did you know Tess is pregnant?" She tried to stop right as she was saying the last word, but it came out. And she wished it hadn't. Because Max wasn't alone in that kitchen. His sister was with him. "Isabel," she said, not sure why the hell she was over there.

Isabel's whole face registered shock and awe. "Tess is pregnant?" She didn't even need a verbal response, because in about three seconds, she was out the door. Zoom. Like the speed of light.

"I invited her over for dinner," Max said, "but apparently now we're chopped liver."

 _Of course we are,_ Maria thought, selfishly relieved that she and Isabel wouldn't have to play nice tonight. When it came down to it, Isabel would probably always think of Tess as her best friend, even if Tess no longer felt the same.

...

 _Perfect timing,_ Isabel thought as she pulled her car to a stop outside of Tess's house. She'd been over there a few times the past couple years, just to see if there was any possible way she and Tess could hang out. But much like Max and Michael and everybody else she used to know, Tess had never seemed to have any time for her.

Tess was unloading groceries from her car, looking . . . sort of not all that put-together. T-shirt and jeans. Messy hair. Little makeup. Definitely not the head cheerleader she used to be.

Isabel got out of her car and pranced forward, intercepting Tess on her way to the front door. "Oh my god, congratulations!" she exclaimed.

Tess stared at her warily. "What're you doing here?"

"I just heard. I wanted to come by and say-"

"Congratulations," Tess filled in. "Got it." She tried to step around her, but Isabel moved backward, blocking her progress.

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

Tess sighed impatiently. "Well, I assume it's one of them."

"I bet it's a girl," Isabel predicted. "And she'll be a cheerleader."

"Well, we'll see." Tess didn't even crack a smile. There was no glint of excitement in her eyes. It was weird.

"You don't seem very happy," Isabel remarked, taking the heavy grocery sack out of her hands. "Didn't you used to daydream about this?"

"Not exactly."

"No, but I remember-"

"Isabel," she cut in adamantly. "I don't wanna talk to you about this. We're not close anymore. We're not a part of each other's lives."

Isabel whimpered inwardly. God, it sounded so . . . definite. She and Tess had known each other since elementary school, though. Was it so wrong to just be happy for her and want to talk to her about it? Apparently it was, in Tess's mind at least.

God, that pissed her off.

"Oh, that's right," she said. "You're just best friends with Michael's girlfriend, whoever that may be at any given time." There was no real loyalty there. She'd been wrong to assume that there would be.

"You don't have to mean," Tess said.

Didn't she, though? Being nice apparently wouldn't work. "No," she said, handing the grocery sack back to Tess. "I do." She stomped off towards her car again, so upset that her genuine excitement and congratulations had been met with such dismissiveness. At this point, it was probably too late to go back to Max's and take him up on his dinner offer, too, so that left her with no choice but to go home and see if Jesse wanted to film anything tonight.

...

Maria stood at the kitchen counter the next morning, her right hand on the mouse of her laptop, her left hand on the door to her barren spice cabinet. She was checking to make sure she had all the ingredients to make this spicy lasagna she'd found through a Google search, but so far, it wasn't looking good.

"Morning," Max greeted as he shuffled into the kitchen.

"Morning," she returned without glancing up from the computer screen.

"What're you doing?" he asked as he stuck two chocolate Pop Tarts in the toaster.

"Just trying to find something to cook tonight."

He chuckled. "Macaroni and cheese should cut it."

"No, I gotta make something better than that." Macaroni and cheese would cut it if it was just her and Dylan and Max she was cooking for, but not if they had company. "I'm gonna invite Michael and Sarah over."

"What now?"

"It's fair," she said, standing up on her tiptoes to see if she had basil in that cabinet. It didn't seem likely, but it was worth a shot. "She invited us over to their place. Now I'm returning the favor."

"But you can't cook," he pointed out. Since he was taller than her, he reached up, grabbed all the spices, and brought them down for her. Nope. No basil.

"I can fake cook," she assured him. "Look, I just wanna prove that I am of equal value to this . . . tentative friendship or peace treaty or whatever the hell it is the four of us having going on." It seemed like Sarah was so good at so many things, and she just wanted to be good at cooking and entertaining guests, too. Just for one night at least.

"Are you okay with it?" she asked, knowing she should have talked to him about it first. But he hadn't exactly run the idea of inviting Isabel over by her.

"Sure," he said. "I like Sarah."

She smiled a little.

"And I have nothing against Michael," he insisted. "He just doesn't like me."

"Well, maybe we could invite Liz, too." It would be good for Max to have someone else in his corner.

"Good idea," he said. "I'll call her."

"I'll call Sarah." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and headed back into the bedroom to find her phone.

...

Throat hurting, head aching, Alex stumbled through the door to his apartment, happy to be home. Leanna was there, looking at herself in their bedroom mirror. Her hair was wet and clipped up off her neck, and she was wrapped in a towel.

"Hi, honey," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

"Alex." She spun around, smiling shakily. "You're home early."

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said. "Yeah, I just wasn't feeling very well, so . . ."

"Oh, you know, I wasn't, either," she said. "Actually, I was kinda wondering if you could run to the pharmacy and get me some cough drops."

Was she really asking him that? Did she not _see_ how crappy he looked? "I'm sure we have some, don't we?" he said.

"No, I really want this special kind."

A _special_ kind? Was there even such a thing? "I'm sorry," he said, tossing his coat onto the bed, "I can't. I just need to take a shower and take a nap." He loosened his tie and headed for the bathroom, but she got in front of him and stopped him.

"Oh, um . . ." She looked like she was trying to say something, but no words came out.

"What?" he prompted.

She just stared at him, mouth moving but still uttering nothing. And then . . .

The bathroom door opened. And out stepped a guy. Wet hair and skin just like hers. Towel around his waist.

It didn't take a rocket scientist . . .

"Oh, hey, Alex," the guy said, and it was only when he spoke that Alex recognized him as Liz's ex-boyfriend Sean. Wordlessly, helplessly, he looked at him, and then back at Leanna. But she could no longer look him in the eye.

 _Son of a bitch._

...

The conversation over dinner had been . . . pleasant. Light-hearted. Well-suited to the indie music Maria had playing lightly in the background. Sarah and Liz had done a lot of the talking, of course They were both so naturally good at these types of things and seemed to have a lot in common. Neither of the guys said much, but that was probably for the best. And occasionally Scarlet did something cute or said something cute that made all the attention go straight to her.

Inevitably, though, they got to that point where they were mostly done eating, and no one knew whether or not to sit there and keep talking or move into the living room and talk there, or maybe just to leave altogether.

"Do you guys want anymore?" Maria asked everyone. She'd made enough to feed a small army.

"Oh, I'm fine," Sarah said. "I don't know what to say, Maria. This was so delicious."

"Thanks." _It'd better be,_ she thought.

"What's the recipe?"

"Oh, it's, um . . ." Hell if she knew. "It's, uh—it's . . . it's a mixture of a whole bunch of things." She'd scrapped the spicy and lasagna and ended up serving a chicken cordon bleu casserole instead. "Yeah, you kinda just mix everything together in a big casserole dish and cook it. For a while."

Liz gave her a knowing smile but didn't say anything.

"Well, I'll have to have you write it down for me," Sarah said. "I really wanna make it sometime."

Next to her, Michael shifted in his seat and mumbled, "She probably got it out of a box."

"Michael!" Sarah hissed.

"No, he's—he's right," Maria admitted sheepishly. "I did." There was no point in pretending otherwise. She'd just end up making herself look stupid if she even _attempted_ to write down her 'recipe' for this meal.

"Oh, well, it's still really good," Sarah said.

"Save room," Liz told her, "because I brought dessert. Good old-fashioned chocolate cake."

"Oh god, you might have to roll me out of here," Sarah warned Michael, holding her stomach with one hand.

He smirked.

Over in her makeshift highchair, Scarlet cooed, "Di-di."

"Does she want me?" Max asked.

"No, Di-di means Dylan. Da-da means you," Liz informed him.

"She wants Dylan?" Maria loved that. "That's so sweet."

"I know!" Liz agreed.

"Is Dylan gonna be back at all?" Michael piped up.

"Uh, no. Luke's mom said the movie wasn't 'til 6:30," Maria replied. "So probably not."

Michael just nodded.

"What'd they go see?" Sarah asked.

"Something about cars that turn into werewolves or something." She rolled her eyes. It sounded stupid, but it was PG, so whatever.

"Awesome," Michael breathed. Of course that kind of movie would be his thing.

"You know what? Michael and I just watched this really great movie on _Lifetime_ the other night," Sarah segued.

"No, we didn't," Michael denied quickly. " _Lifetime_? What is that?"

Maria smiled at him a little.

"I can't remember what it was called," Sarah went on, "but it was surprisingly good. There was, like, this guy and—god, I can't remember the name of it. Do you remember, honey?"

 _Honey?_ Maria thought. Had she ever called Michael that?

"I don't even know what you're talking about," he said.

"Oh, whatever." She playfully hit his shoulder. "You totally watched."

"I rested my eyes a lot," he claimed.

"No, you didn't. You even wanted to watch it again when they showed it the next night."

" _Because_ I was resting my eyes the first night."

Maria gave Max a look, figuring this could go on a while.

Suddenly, Liz's phone rang—an awful, way-too-shrill ring for any phone of the twenty-first century—and she said, "Sorry, I have to take this," when she checked who was calling. She got up from the table and once again apologized, "Sorry," as she headed down the hall towards he bedroom.

"You're fine," Maria said. _Crap._ Without Liz there, though, the conversation would probably lull. Unless she could keep Michael and Sarah bickering about this movie.

Silence settled in, though, just for a few seconds. Thankfully, Max was able to break it, though, when he asked, "So, Sarah, are you cooking a big meal for Thanksgiving?"

"I don't think so," she said. "We haven't even nailed down our Thanksgiving plans yet, have we?"

Michael shrugged. "Just goin' to your parents'."

 _I wonder if they like him,_ Maria thought. _Probably._ Her mom had never liked him, though. And she probably never would.

"But what about your family?" Sarah asked him.

He grunted. "Not much to be thankful about over there."

"Well, maybe we should go pick them up and then all drive to my parents' place together. And just celebrate as one big happy family this year."

 _One big happy family?_ Maria thought. That was kind of what Michael had always wanted.

"Whatever you want," he said. "I don't care."

"We'll figure it out," she said, turning her attention to Maria and Max again. "What are you guys gonna do?"

 _Avoid my mom,_ she thought. Maybe they could something with his mom. Diane wasn't so bad. "Oh, you know, we'll probably just . . . relax and spend time together," she said.

"Something low-key," Max agreed.

"Yeah. Who knows? Maybe I can find a boxed Thanksgiving dinner to make."

"Oh, just stop," Sarah said. "This was _really_ good. Do you see all these empty plates here?"

Maria forced a smile, but it still all felt . . . inadequate.

"And speaking of really good . . ." Sarah continued on. "This music you have going is incredible. How do you discover all these good songs?"

"Oh, it just helps to have really eclectic tastes," she replied. There was still a lot of great music out there these days, even though radio stations mostly just played crap.

"Yeah, she listens to . . ." Max trailed off, confessing, "Honestly, I can't even remember half the stuff you listen to. And I can't pronounce the other half. It's different."

"Give me some song recommendations," Sarah said. "I need to broaden my musical horizons."

 _Finally, something I can be an expert on,_ she thought. "Well, there's . . . 'Angels' by The XX. Pretty much anything by Athlete. 'I Can't Find You' by SolarSolar." The list went on and on.

"'Unchained Melody,'" Michael added.

Her eyes widened. Why the hell would he even mention that?

"Oh, by Leann Rimes?" Sarah said.

Maria got a little laugh out of that. "No, the Righteous Brothers version. It's . . . my favorite." She gave Michael a subtle warning look.

"How's it go again?" Sarah said. "God, I'm having so many brain farts tonight. I can't even think of it."

 _I'll never forget it,_ Maria thought. And not only because it was her favorite. "It's, uh . . . it's in the movie _Ghost_ ," she said, hoping that would spark the necessary recognition.

"Why can't I think of it?" Sarah fretted.

 _Why are we sitting here talking about this song?_ Maria wondered, a little panicked on the inside. Max and Sarah didn't know . . . they didn't know what that song symbolized to her and Michael.

"Sing it, Maria," Max said.

"What?"

"Sing it." He got up and went into the living room to turn down the volume on the stereo, so the music that was already playing was practically muted.

"You know, I have been waiting to hear this famous voice of yours," Sarah said.

"It's not famous." Maria felt like her stomach was knotting up. Where the hell was Liz? She needed someone else out there.

"Michael says you're really good," Sarah said.

"She is," Max confirmed as he came back into the kitchen and sat down again. "Come on, sing some of it."

 _Oh god._ She didn't want to. But clearly they weren't going to let up, so she wasn't left with many options. "Um . . . well, it's, uh . . . oh, this is really awkward," she mumbled in a hushed tone. "Um . . ." Maybe it wouldn't have been so awkward if Michael wasn't sitting right there at that table. But he was. He was _right there_.

She just had to do it. Get it done.

When the words came out, she could hear her own anxiety in them.

" _Oh, my love_

 _My darling_

 _I've hungered for your touch."_

Sarah joined in on the last two words, clearly recognizing it now that she'd had some help. "Yeah!" she exclaimed. "Okay, I totally remember it now."

 _Thank God,_ Maria thought. If she sang too much more, too many memories would come flooding back.

"Wow, you're really good," Sarah raved.

"Not really," she said modestly.

"No, you are. Seriously." Sarah smiled at her. "You have a beautiful voice."

Well . . . it _was_ nice to hear that once in a while. "Thank you," she said.

Turning to Michael again, Sarah asked, "Do you like that song?"

Maria felt her breath catch.

"No," he said.

*For some reason, when he said that, she felt like she was able to exhale in relief.

"Ugh, I swear," Sarah muttered, "if it's not sung by the Metallica guy or Kurt Cobain, he has no interest in it."

Maria laughed a little, but when she caught Michael's expression out of the corner of her eye . . . she knew that wasn't necessarily true.

...

After dessert, Max left to go pick Dylan up from Luke's house. Maria sort of kept expecting that Michael and Sarah would leave, too, but Sarah was obsessed with Scarlet, and that was occupying a lot of time. Not that that was a bad thing. While she and Liz tried to get her to eat some cake without just stuffing her whole face into the center of it, Maria and Michael were able to casually mosey on into the living room. Just to talk.

"Why would you do that?" she finally worked up the nerve to ask him.

"What?" he said innocently. "You mean mention one of the most well-known, popular songs of all time?"

"Yes."

He smirked and shrugged. "I was just messin' around."

"Well, stop. It's uncomfortable," she told him.

"For who?"

"Me."

"Why?" He grinned teasingly.

"You know why." The memory of making love to him while that song played in the background was going to stick with her for the rest of time. And it would probably always stick with him, too.

"You really do have a beautiful voice," he told her in a moment of rare sincerity for the night. "Gonna put it to use someday?"

She sighed, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "I don't know, I think the whole singer dream's kinda run its course. I was starting to think about maybe being a music _teacher_ , though."

He nodded and said, "You'd be good at that."

Would she be, though? Sometimes she wondered. Even though she was in college now . . . she'd taken an unconventional path to get here.

He laughed a little and said, "Watch us end up in the same school."

"No," she said quickly. "That can't happen."

"Why not?"

 _Because,_ she thought, suddenly at a loss for words. _Just . . . because._

"Michael, come here," Sarah called out. "You have to hold her." Scarlet was in her arms now, clinging to her, and looking very sleepy. Sarah was rocking her gently. Of course she seemed to be a natural with kids.

"Watch out," Liz warned Michael as they slinked past each other, "she squirms."

"Got it," he said, sitting down on the other side of Sarah. He didn't hold Scarlet, but he sure did watch his girlfriend hold her. They probably would have a son or daughter of their own in a couple years. After the both got their bachelor's degrees, of course. With the careers they had in mind, they'd both end up having to get master's degrees. They would end up be smart and happy and wealthy. Picture perfect.

"Well, I'd say tonight was a success," Liz told Maria.

"Yeah, it's gone alright," Maria agreed. Maybe the actual food she'd served could have been a _little_ better. If it was homemade.

"You know, Maria, I think it's really good that you and Sarah are able to get along so well," Liz said. "Maybe someday Max and Michael can do the same."

"I wouldn't hold my breath on that," Maria said. Michael was way too stubborn to ever give Max another chance. She'd accepted the fact that it would never happen. "So are you gonna stick around for a while?"

"Actually, I think I'm gonna have to leave soon," Liz replied. "Something came up."

Well, that was cryptic. "You alright?"

"Oh, _I'm_ fine," Liz assured her. "Alex isn't, though. That phone call earlier was from him." She cringed.

"What's wrong?"

Liz leaned in, lowered her voice to barely above a mumble, and revealed, "His wife cheated on him."

"What?" Hadn't they only been married for a couple of months?

"Yeah. With Sean."

" _What_?" Maria wasn't super close to her cousin or anything, but she'd thought highly enough of him to set him up with Liz. This sort of changed her opinion, though. "Oh my god."

"Yeah, that new girlfriend of his? Apparently it's Leanna."

"No way."

"I know, it's horrible, right?" Liz said. "I mean, how could anyone cheat on Alex? He's such a good guy."

When Liz looked away, so did Maria. And her eyes landed right on Michael. She wasn't sure why, though, so she quickly lowered her head.


	34. Chapter 34

"I feel numb," Alex said, his voice flat, expressionless.

"Oh, god." Liz sat beside him on the couch, feeling so sorry for him. "I wish there was something more I could do for you."

"You're doin' enough just by lettin' me stay here tonight."

"It's no problem." She had a spare bedroom in her apartment, and he was welcome to stay as long as he needed to. "I can't believe it," she said. "I can't believe she would cheat on you. And with Sean?" The whole thought of it made her sick.

"Yeah, I always thought he was a decent guy," Alex said. "Guess not."

Liz shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together. "I'm so pissed at him," she ground out, hating that he would stoop so low as to have an affair with a married woman. Seriously?

"Apparently they met in Zumba," Alex revealed.

"Well, if it's any consolation, that doesn't exactly sound like an epic love story."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'm done. I'm not gonna stay with someone who would do that to me."

"No, you deserve better," she agreed. The irony of this whole thing was not lost on her. Here she was, sympathizing with Alex about being betrayed by his wife, and she'd once been a knowing culprit in helping Michael betray his girlfriend. She'd matured a lot since then, though, and learned a lot from the experience.

"Leanna thinks _she_ deserves better," he grumbled bitterly. "That's what she told me."

Liz nearly laughed at that. "First off, she doesn't. Second . . . Sean's not better. _Trust_ me. He's just an immature guy with no concept of responsibility."

"Must be somethin' about him she likes," he said sadly. "And something she resents about me."

"What is there to resent, though? You're a great guy, Alex." He was on the fast track to a life of great success. Most guys his age weren't doing half the things he was doing.

"But I work a lot," he mumbled, "and go to school. And have ex-girlfriends who make her jealous."

Liz winced. "I'm sorry." She'd never meant for her friendship with Alex to be a point of contention in his marriage to Leanna. Though she suspected his former infatuation with Isabel drove Leanna up the wall far more often.

"It's not your fault," Alex assured her. "She just never could handle it if she wasn't my top priority. And maybe that's _my_ fault. Maybe she always should have been. I don't know."

"This is _not_ your fault." In her opinion, Leanna had always been very needy when it came to attention from her husband, so much so that it was almost childish. "You've been a good and patient husband to her. I think it just started to become clear once you guys were married that you had different agendas and . . . trajectories you wanted to follow in life. And she's just not the person you thought she was."

"No, she's not," he agreed emphatically. "When we were dating, it seemed great, but . . . I don't know, I guess marriage changes things."

If that was true, then _for once_ she was happy to still be on the dating scene. "I know it doesn't seem like it now," she said, "but this might actually be a good thing. You're probably better off." She'd held her tongue about Leanna for a long time now. It felt good to actually voice her opinion.

"I know," Alex said with a sigh. "It still stings, though."

Liz nodded, understanding why it would. Sometimes, certain people just worked a number on you, and no matter how hard you tried to shake them . . . it just couldn't be done.

...

 _Slow day,_ Michael thought as he played Trivia Crack on his phone. He had games going with both Sarah and Monk, and while his and Sarah's was pretty evenly matched, Monk was unfortunately kicking his ass.

Slow days at the school were probably better than hectic, busy ones, though. Even though it made the time crawl by, it was technically a good thing. It meant that things were going smoothly and they'd been productive enough to allow themselves a little time to relax.

Vanessa never relaxed, though. When there wasn't work to be done, she found work to do. Or she found work for _him_ to do. And even though she answered a few Trivia Crack questions with him, she soon became bored with it.

"Take a look at this," she said, handing him a file folder.

He put his phone away and took a look at the name on top of the folder, not recognizing it. _Jake Harper._ "New student?" he guessed.

Vanessa nodded. "First grader."

He opened the folder and took a look at the documents inside. Most of it was medical, provided to the school by the kid's doctors and therapist. "Oh, wow," he said, reading his diagnosis. " _Severe_ autism?"

"Yep."

"What does that mean, exactly? It seems like autism looks different in every kid."

"Well, it's a _spectrum_ disorder," she reminded him, "so it does. But this particular boy came to visit yesterday morning. He doesn't know how to communicate at all, so when he wants something or feels something, he just yells and screams. That's the only way he knows how to express himself."

"Did he do that when he was here?"

"Yeah. His parents are gonna move him here after Christmas because his current school can't seem to handle him. They're just biding their time there now until they can find a house in Carlsbad."

"Huh." As much as he was all about helping kids who needed it, sometimes they just weren't equipped or prepared to help every single kid. "Isn't this the kind of kid who should maybe be in the Life Skills program and not the regular classroom?"

"Probably," Vanessa agreed. "But his parents don't want that for him. They want him to be normal."

"He's _not_ normal, though."

Vanessa sighed. "They just haven't accepted that yet. So he'll be our responsibility soon enough. We'll have to try to find a way to educate and socialize him."

Based on what Michael was reading . . . that might prove to be impossible. But with schools having such an 'inclusion' mindset these days, they didn't really have a choice but to try. "Are you gonna try to do a Circle of Friends for him?" he asked. There were two other autistic kids in the school who had something like that.

"Definitely," Vanessa replied. "But Luke's already in one. And so are some of those other boys he hangs out with."

"Dylan would be good," Michael suggested. He wasn't already part of a Circle.

"That's what I was thinking."

"Yeah, he was a good leader out on the football field."

Vanessa smiled. "Isn't that amazing that you start seeing qualities like that even at such a young age?"

"Yeah." It made him feel proud, knowing that the little boy he'd technically helped raise was turning out so well. "He's a good kid."

Vanessa held out her hand, and he closed Jake Harper's file folder and handed it back to her. "So," she said, putting it away in her bottom right desk drawer, "how was it being his coach, given your prior relationship with him and his mom?"

 _Amazing,_ he wanted to say. Now that football was over, the thing he would miss most about it was seeing Dylan so often. But he downplayed it. "It was fine," he said nonchalantly. "I got a handle on that now."

"Good," Vanessa said. "Because you sure didn't back when you were pummeling his father's face."

"Yeah, I still don't like him," he admitted.

"Well, at least you learned to be professional."

He grinned and joked, "So when my practicum's over, then I can stop being professional and just kick his ass." _Oh, if only . . ._

"Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that," she said.

"What, kicking his ass?"

"No, about your practicum coming to an end," she clarified. "I know you're plenty busy, but I just thought I'd mention that we're in desperate need of some classroom aides to work with some of our kids. And with this new one coming in . . . well, he'll need a lot of help."

 _Holy crap,_ he thought. _Is she offering me a job?_ Had he really managed to turn her opinion of him around that much?

"There would be _some_ pay," she said, "but I'm not gonna lie, it'd be minimal."

"So basically you want me to volunteer to work with a bunch of really challenging kids," he surmised.

"Basically."

He thought about it for a moment, then couldn't help but laugh a little.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"It's just ironic." He thought back to all those tutoring sessions with Alex, and how challenging those must have been for him. "People used to have to volunteer to help me."

"That's why you're the right person for the job," she declared.

When she put it like that . . . yeah, it did make sense. He didn't have the same kind of disorder this Jake kid had, but he'd had his own issues to overcome.

"You don't have to decide right now," she told him. "Just think about it."

He definitely would.

...

"So how much does it pay?" Sarah asked as she unloaded the dishwasher that evening.

"It basically doesn't," Michael admitted.

"So you'd just be doing it for the experience then."

"Yeah. I mean, it'd be a good thing to put on a _résumé_ someday."

"It would," she agreed, straining as she tried to put a large mixing bowl away in the top cabinet. It was hard for her since she was short, so he took it out of her hands and put it away for her. "Thanks," she said. "So would you still keep your housing job, though?"

"Yeah, this would pretty much just take the place of my practicum."

She shut the dishwasher and faced him with both hands on her hips. "So you think you can handle it?"

"Yeah." He felt confident. "I don't think I'll be any busier than I am right now, and I've been handlin' this fine." His grades were still where he wanted them to be, and his stress level was manageable.

"I think you should do it then," she said.

"You do?"

"Yeah, it'd be a good experience."

He was glad she was on board with it, because ever since Vanessa had mentioned it, he'd been pretty sure that it was something he wanted to do. "You know what else would be a good experience?" he said suggestively, pulling her in close to him with a mischievous gleam on his face. He kissed her greedily, starting to feel like they'd done all the talking they needed to tonight. He didn't have homework, and neither did she, so there were _obvious_ ways to spend the evening.

"You promise me you'll always have time for this?" she murmured against his lips.

"I'll always have time," he promised, lifting her up. She squealed and held onto him, legs around his waist, arms around his shoulders, as he carried her around their dividing wall and into the bedroom.

...

Maria rubbed Max's back as his hips rolled against hers. He was in quite a rhythm at this point and was working up a sweat. She lay practically pinned beneath him, her legs open as he moved inside of her. It felt good, but it was obvious that he was closer than she was. So she kind of just started to drift off, turning her head to the side while he buried his face in the side of her neck. His breathing was coming in hot, heavy pants at this point.

His hips stilled when he came, and he groaned. It took him a minute to recover from it, and he stayed on top of her, his body pressing heavily against hers. When he managed to prop himself up on his elbows, she noticed that his hair was damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead.

"Feels good to do that again," he breathed out.

She smiled a little, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Yeah, it had been a while since they'd had sex. Ever since she'd lied to him about what she was up to on her visit home to Roswell, things had been a little . . . distanced. Tonight, she'd just seen that look in his eyes, the one that made it clear that he was looking to . . . reconnect.

"You okay?" he asked her. "You seem kinda . . ."

"I'm just tired," she said, rubbing his sides.

He stared down at her for a few seconds, then kissed her deeply. As he was doing that, he slid out of her. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from her, and reached down under the covers to take the condom off and dispose of it. "Goodnight," he said, peeking at her one more time over his shoulder before he settled in on his side of the bed.

"'Night," she echoed, straightening her legs out beneath the covers. She squirmed around a bit, trying to find what felt like a comfortable position to fall asleep in. But she didn't feel tired. Not really. It was weird, though, because she didn't exactly feel awake, either. It was like she was just . . . stuck. In between.

...

Even though her intention hadn't been to eavesdrop, that was exactly what Isabel found herself doing when she went to Alex's office on Friday. She stood outside the door, picking up bits and pieces of what he and Liz were saying inside. Something about Alex's wife cheating on him? It sure as hell had her intrigued.

"Just remember, you're better off without her," Liz was saying for about the twenty- _thousandth_ time.

"I know," Alex said. "Thanks, Liz."

 _Oh god, I hope they don't get together now,_ Isabel fretted. It wasn't that she was jealous or anything; Liz and Alex together would have just been too . . . predictable. He deserved to have some spark back in his life after suffering through an abysmal marriage to Leanna as long as he had.

Isabel backed up from the door as Liz came out. Judging by the look on the other girl's face, she'd caught her by surprise.

"Isabel," she said. "What're you doing here?"

What _was_ she doing here? She'd gotten so caught up in listening in that she'd honestly sort of forgotten. "Just came to talk to my professor," she replied vaguely, brushing past Liz. She slipped inside, shutting the door, but Alex gave her one look and said, "Open that back up."

She got a little laugh out of that inwardly, just because her old Princeton professor _never_ would have told her to do that. She did as he wished, though, and sat down across his desk. "So how do I look?" she asked him.

He wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Better than the last time you saw me?" That whole hospital gown, though it had been drafty in some fun places, just wasn't a flattering ensemble on anyone.

"You look better," he agreed. "What do you need?"

"What do I _need_?" she echoed, thinking about what a big question that was. "Lots of things." The answers would range from _more cock_ to _mental therapy_ , depending on who you asked.

"What do you want?" he rephrased.

She shrugged innocently. "Just thought I'd drop in and wish you a happy Thanksgiving. Got any plans over break?"

Instead of answering the question, he shook his head as if he were annoyed. "Isabel . . . you can't do this. Students don't just 'drop in' to say happy Thanksgiving."

"But friends do," she pointed out.

"We're not friends."

She huffed. "You stayed with me at the hospital."

"Because I was worried. The way _any_ normal human being would be."

She swallowed hard, gulping down her disappointment. So if any one of his students had staggered into his classroom, doped up on medication, and passed out in his arms, he would have stayed at the hospital with them, too? She wasn't sure whether she believed that or not, but she was certain she didn't want to.

"Do you have any advice for things I can do over break to improve my grade?" she asked, changing the subject. "Maybe that's also part of why I'm here." It hadn't been, but . . . oh, well. At least it would keep the conversation going.

"Your creative nonfiction piece needs a lot of revision," he told her bluntly. "Start there."

"Okay." She waited for him to suggest something else, but he didn't. "That's it?"

"You could work on your sonnet a little more," he advised. "Maybe go back and tweak the ending of the story you wrote at the beginning of the year."

Isabel smirked. Of course, the ending. Alex never liked her endings. "Sounds good," she said. "Are you gonna have time to relax over break now that . . ." She trailed off, not sure if she should say anything about his current . . . situation. But she was curious. She wanted to know more.

"Now that what?" he prodded.

"Well . . ." She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure no one was waiting out in the hallway, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I couldn't help but overhear that you and your wife might be calling it quits."

He sighed heavily. "You were listening to me and Liz."

"She was just here when I showed up. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop," she insisted, although somewhere along the way, that was _all_ she'd been trying to do. "So what exactly happened? It sounded like she cheated on you?"

"Isabel . . ." He rolled his chair back from his desk, as if he were trying to put some space in between the two of them. "I can't have this conversation with you."

Ignoring him, she said, "I'm sorry. Being cheated on . . . I know how that feels. It sucks."

"I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will be." Alex was one of the most level-headed guys she knew. He wouldn't go on a downward spiral like she had. "Liz is right: You're better off without her. And you know, if I'm being honest, I never really saw you two as a match. It just didn't seem like she appreciated you."

"Yeah, story of my life," he muttered.

 _Is he talking about me?_ she wondered. He acted like it didn't bother him nowadays, the way she'd once tried to use him to get over Michael . . . but was it too much to hope that maybe it still did?

"Look, Isabel, you have to go," he told her sternly. "If you were here to discuss class, that's one thing, but you're not. You're here to discuss my personal life, and that's . . . not okay. I'm your teacher, and you're my student. There's a professional boundary I won't cross."

She frowned, dissatisfied with the way this had gone. She wasn't asking him to cross any lines. All she wanted was to talk to him. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently it was, because that stern, decided look on his face wasn't changing.

"Fine," she said, pushing the chair back so she could stand up. She couldn't leave without saying one more thing, though, so she added, "For what it's worth . . . I think it's her loss." And as someone who had blown any shot she might have once had with Alex . . . she knew all about losing out on him.

When she got out to the parking lot and got into her car . . . she didn't start it right away. Because she knew that if she started driving, she'd just go straight home. And if she went straight home, she wouldn't do anything all day. She'd lie in her bed, listen to music, and look at magazines. If Jesse was home, they'd probably have sex a few times. He'd take a nap this afternoon. She might, too. And when they woke up from it, they'd probably have sex some more. That was just . . . the routine.

...

 _Isabel had barely gotten out of the car when Jesse's arms were encompassing her. "I missed you, babe," he said as he hugged her and swung her around in the air._

 _She stumbled as he set her back down on her own two feet. "I missed you, too," she said, halfway expecting Eric and Courtney to come out and say hi to her, too._

 _As if reading her mind, he told her, "Oh, they're upstairs."_

" _Oh." That was all she needed to hear to know exactly what they were doing. "Well, are you sure they're gonna be okay with me staying here for a while?" She didn't want to intrude, but honestly . . . she had nowhere else to go. Her mom had made it very clear that her house was off limits, and she couldn't stay with Tess now that they were no longer friends._

" _Are you kidding? They're excited about it," Jesse assured her, rubbing her arms. "In fact, Eric and I were thinking about packing up and moving all of us down to Las Cruces, or maybe Carlsbad. You know, somewhere where you could still be in college if you want to."_

 _She shuddered just thinking about it. So far, college had not been good to her. "I got kicked out of Princeton. I don't know if any school's gonna want me."_

" _You'll find one," he promised her._

" _I don't know." He sounded optimistic, but she was finding it hard to be hopeful about anything anymore. "My own mother doesn't want me. She won't let me stay with her. She doesn't even wanna see me now that I'm back. She's just so ashamed of me."_

 _He stroked her cheek, kissed her lips gently, and said, "Don't worry about it."_

 _How could she not, though? She'd screwed up Princeton._ Princeton. _An Ivy League school. How many people were that careless?_

" _Don't worry," he said again, slinking his arms around her waist. "We're your family now."_

 _She knew he was just saying that to try to make her feel better, but for some reason . . . it made her stomach twist into knots._

...

Isabel turned her key in the ignition, starting up the car. She backed out of her parking space slowly, in no real hurry to get home, but resigned to the fact that there was really nowhere else for her to go.

Her "family" would be waiting for her.

...

Pulling her long-sleeved shirt down over her hands, Maria shivered. It was definitely getting cold outside. Winter was coming, and the year was flying by.

Beside her, Michael sat comfortably in his t-shirt, apparently unaffected by the change in the weather. "You cold?" he asked.

"Yeah." Wasn't it obvious? She'd been shaking like a leaf ever since they'd walked out of class. She knew she didn't _have_ to sit out there on Plaza Verde with him, but . . . why not? She didn't have much to do this afternoon.

He'd introduced her to one of his other friends today, Monk. She wasn't sure why his friends all seemed to have such weird names and weird personalities to go along with them, but when he told her that Monk had Asperger's syndrome, his personality made a lot more sense.

"So what he has is a form of autism, right?" she asked for clarification as Monk and Fly played around with the Frisbee. Michael had opted to sit this one out today.

"Yeah. It looks different in everyone," he explained to her. "But like with Monk, it doesn't affect his intelligence or anything. He's really smart; he just can't always communicate in the normal way, so it makes him really socially awkward."

"Huh. He seems nice, though."

"He is."

"I think a few of the kids at Dylan's school have autism, but it seems like it affects more than just their social skills."

Michael nodded, as if he knew exactly who she was talking about. He'd probably worked with them throughout his time there. "They're gonna get one more after Christmas, too," he said. "And apparently with him it's really bad."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna try to work with him."

She frowned, trying to piece together how that would be possible. "I thought you said he was coming after Christmas, though."

"He is."

She felt like an idiot, but . . . something just wasn't making sense to her. "Won't your practicum be over by then?"

"Yeah, but . . ." He cleared his throat and twisted his whole body to the side to stretch out. "I think I'm gonna stay on there, kinda like as a volunteer. Or a minimally-paid volunteer, I guess."

"Oh." So that meant Dylan would still see him around then. He would like that. "That sounds like it'll be a really good experience for you."

"That's what I keep saying."

She wasn't about to voice it, but she wondered if that would be her _only_ way of seeing him next semester. He wouldn't be in Music Appreciation with her, and it wasn't like she was going to enroll in any of his psychology classes. No way was she _so_ desperate to be around him that she'd sign up for a class she wasn't even required to take.

She'd miss him, though. After all this time apart, she'd actually grown used to having him in her life again. Even in a just-friends capacity.

"So are you looking forward to Thanksgiving break?" she asked, shivering again as the wind whipped past.

"Yeah." He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. "Hopefully I can just relax."

"Yeah." She didn't yet know what her own plans were, but if they involved her mother in any way, it definitely _wouldn't_ be relaxing. "Do you remember a couple years ago, my first and only Thanksgiving with you guys?" she asked, unable to stop herself from taking a little stroll down memory lane. "Your grandparents came to visit."

He groaned, tossing his head back. "That was awful."

"Yeah, it was kinda tense."

He pressed his mouth together tightly, shaking his head. "You know, I haven't even seen them or talked to them since my dad's funeral. Not once, ever."

"Ever?"

"Nope."

"What about your mom's parents?"

He sighed heavily. "They kinda . . . cut ties with her when she got pregnant with me."

"Oh." She felt bad for him, because even though he hadn't always been the ideal grandson growing up, she knew that his grandparents would be proud of him now if they knew what kind of man he was becoming, what kinds of things he was going to do with his life.

"Yeah, my family really sucks," he openly admitted. "I'm so glad you were there."

She bristled a bit, not sure what he meant by that. "For what?"

He just smiled at her and said, "All of it."

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to react too much to that. But inside, she was feeling a few butterflies. Because she felt the same way. Despite all the hardships she'd observed and been a part of while living with Michael, she wouldn't have traded it for anything. It was exactly where she had _wanted_ to be.

"Michael . . ." She wanted to tell him that she was glad—no, not only glad, but _thankful_ —that he'd been there with her, too, because it had meant so much to her; but the words got stuck in her throat.

"Anyway, I gotta go," he said abruptly, sitting up straight again. "Work."

"Oh. Right." They weren't just going to sit there and talk all day. He had stuff to do, and surely there were other things she _could_ have been doing.

He unzipped his backpack, reached inside, and took out a crimson Aggies sweatshirt, dropping it into her lap. "Have a good Thanksgiving," he told her, getting to his feet.

She waved goodbye to him, looking away while he walked off with his backpack slung over one shoulder. She held the sweatshirt in her hands, knowing she should give it back the next time she saw him. But right now, it looked so warm, and all she wanted to do was put it on and _be_ warm. She couldn't help but smile when she looked at the cowboy mascot on the front.


	35. Chapter 35

Over the course of Thanksgiving break, there was a lot to be thankful for. First and foremost on the list was that Michael had a whole week off . . . to do virtually nothing. No classes, only a few hours here and there at work. Sarah still had to work a bit, too, but when she wasn't, she was able to just relax and chill out with him. On Monday, she tried to teach him one of her old dance team routines from high school, and for some reason, he went along with it. It was fun. On Tuesday, they rented every _Rocky_ movie and had a marathon, falling asleep on the couch together after the last one. And on Wednesday . . . well, Wednesday, they barely left the bed.

Thursday was busier, of course, though. Every dorm and suite hall effectively shut down for the holiday, and the only students who remained on campus were the international ones. Michael and Sarah left early, making the drive to Roswell. She let him listen to his music the whole drive down there—Metallica, Nirvana, Staind, to name a few—with the promise that she'd get to play a few Arianna Grande songs on the way back.

Michael was completely and utterly grateful that they weren't actually going to have to spend Thanksgiving in Roswell—the less time he had to spend in that town, the better. But he was a bit aggravated that, when he pulled up in the driveway outside his house, his mom and sister weren't ready to go.

"Let's go!" he shouted, honking the horn impatiently. "What's taking them so long?"

"They're girls, Michael," Sarah reminded him. "It takes them longer to get ready."

Seriously, how long did it take, though? Because his mom had come out fifteen minutes ago and claimed that they were _almost_ ready.

Finally, Tina came bounding out of the house . . . as much as she _could_ bound at nearly five months pregnant. He was glad to see that she was wearing a loose-fitting black t-shirt, so her bump wasn't quite as noticeable as it would have been if she'd been wearing something more form-fitting.

"Hey, can I ride with you guys?" she asked, bending down to peer in through the open window. "I _really_ don't wanna go with Mom."

Michael dismissed that idea right away. "No, I'm not gonna make her drive down by herself." They had to take two separate cars, because he and Sarah were staying the night at her family's house while his mom and Tina would obviously be going home later that night.

"I'll ride with her," Sarah volunteered, diffusing the situation. "You two ride together."

"Thanks, Sarah," Tina chirped as they switched places. Sarah got out and headed to Krista's vehicle while Tina eagerly plopped down in the passenger's seat of Michael's car. "Can I drive?" she asked hopefully.

"No." He got out of the car when his mom came out onto the porch, motioning him to come talk to her. As he was walking away, though, he heard Tina moving around, probably trying to get into the driver's seat, so he turned back around and grabbed the keys out of the ignition. She pouted.

Stepping up onto the porch, he asked his mom, "What's up?"

"Do I look okay?" she asked, smoothing her hands over her hair.

"Yeah, of course." She'd missed a few greys the last time she'd dyed her hair, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

"I'm nervous," she admitted, plucking at the dress she was wearing. It was casual, and she had a sweater on over it, but . . . it was still a dress. Not what she usually wore.

"Why?" he asked. Sarah's parents were easygoing, easy to get along with.

"Just this spending the holiday with Sarah's family . . ." She let out a shaky sigh. "I just wanna make a good impression."

He laughed a bit. "Relax. You've met 'em before."

"I know, and they seem like good people," she acknowledged. "But I know they come from a more traditional, conservative lifestyle, and I just . . . I worry."

He frowned. "About what?"

As if on cue, Tina reached over and honked the horn loudly. "Let's go!" she shouted, mimicking him.

 _Of course,_ Michael thought. She was worried what they would think about Tina.

"Do you think they'll pass judgment on what kind of mother I am based on your sister's . . . condition?" she asked fearfully.

"No," he assured her. "They're not judgmental." There were obviously a million things they could have judged him about, preconceived notions they could have had when they met him. But they were pretty open-minded. "And besides, they already know about it. I talked to Sarah's mom on the phone last night and told her. They're not gonna make a big deal out of it."

"That's good," she said, her whole body visibly relaxing in relief. "That makes me feel better."

"And for the record, Tina being pregnant has nothing to do with what kind of mother you are," he reminded her. " 'cause you're a pretty damn good one. And for that I'm really . . . thankful." He grinned like a dope.

She laughed lightly, putting her arm around him, rubbing his shoulder blades. "You turned out to be a pretty good kid, you know that?"

He grunted. "Surprisingly." It had only taken a couple arrests and suspensions and a lot of underage depravity to get to this point.

"Well, I'm pretty thankful for you, too," she said, standing up on her tiptoes so she could kiss his cheek.

...

"So what exactly is the plan?" Maria asked Max. She stood in the bathroom in front of the mirror, straightening her hair, because she'd slept hard, and right now, it looked like she had a mop on her head.

"Dinner at my mom's," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Your mom said she'd be there."

 _Oh, joy,_ she thought sarcastically, biting her tongue. "Do my mom and your mom get along?"

He made a face. "Why wouldn't they?"

"Well, they both dated the same guy, for starters."

"Hmm, that sounds familiar."

She clamped her straightener down on a particularly problematic under-layer of her hair and slid it down slowly. "Meaning?"

"Meaning you and Liz get along fine," he pointed out. "You and Sarah seem to be getting along fine."

She rolled her eyes, understanding what he was saying. "Okay, point taken." Truthfully, she wasn't as concerned about his mom and her mom getting along so much as she was concerned about her own role today. "But is your mom gonna get along with _me_?" she wondered aloud. "I mean, I barely even know her." They'd talked on the phone a few times over the past year, but that was it. Even Max was still, in some ways, getting used to having her in his life, because he hadn't grown up with her.

"So this is your chance to _get_ to know her," he said, "and let her get to know you."

"But what if she doesn't _wanna_ know me?" she fretted, setting her straightener down on the counter.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then sidled up behind her and put his arms around her waist. "What are you worried about?" he asked.

She settled back into him, putting her hands on top of his, talking to the reflected version of him in the mirror. "I just don't know if it'll be possible for her to ever like me. Because of my past. Because of everything that happened between Isabel and Michael and me." Even though she could never regret having a relationship with Michael, she would probably always regret the way they'd gone about it. "I mean, I'm part of the reason why her daughter's life is in shambles. A big part."

He nuzzled her hair, murmuring, "Isabel's responsible for her own choices. My mom knows that."

"I hope so," she said. "Because I don't want her to look at me and just see, like, the other woman."

"She won't," he reassured her. "Trust me, if she can look past all of my wrongdoings, she can look past yours." He bent his head, kissing the side of her neck, and said, "Don't worry. It's gonna be a good day."

She managed a small smile, but inside, she was still nervous.

...

Michael could practically hear his mother's heart pounding from the second she stepped foot in the Nguyen home. "Oh my," she gasped, "this is a nice house."

"Yep," Michael agreed. The first time he'd been there, he'd been intimidated, too. It was a large two-story with a fancy living room, state of the art kitchen, and separate dining room on the first floor. All the bedrooms were on the second floor, and honestly, the master bedroom and guest bedroom looked like something out of one of those Home and Garden magazines.

There were a few other family members there, most of whom Michael had only met once or twice. He recognized Sarah's grandmother from her father's side of the family and recalled that the woman's English was a little shaky at best. She was old, frail, and in a wheelchair now, but she looked happy to be there. Her aunt and uncle were there, too, and a few cousins. He'd seen pictures of them but couldn't remember if he'd ever met them in person before or not.

Sarah's mom gave her a big hug, but Sarah, daddy's girl that she was, almost immediately became locked in a conversation with her dad. Her mom opened up her arms to Michael and gave him a big hug. "Hi, Michael!" she exclaimed. "How are you?"

"I'm good," he said. "Thanks for having us, Vivian."

"Oh, thanks for coming. I know it was a bit of a drive."

"Not bad." Las Cruces was only about three hours away from Roswell. It paled in comparison to how far his drive had been from Roswell to Tuscaloosa, back in the day.

"You remember my mom?" he asked, stepping aside to reintroduce them if necessary.

"Of course. Hi, Krista." Vivian immediately hugged her, too. "Good to see you again."

"You, too," his mom returned. "You have a lovely home."

"Oh, thank you. We had to remodel this whole living room when we first moved in . . ."

Michael tuned out of their conversation and instead turned his attention to Sarah's little brother when he sauntered up. "Victor. V-Dog," he said, holding his fist out.

"M-Dog," Victor returned, fist-bumping him.

"What up, bro?"

Victor shrugged. "Nothin' much. I got friends now."

"That's good. That's always good, man." Victor was a nice kid, and according to Sarah, he'd started to find his place in high school now. He deserved that.

"So . . . your sister's really pregnant?" Victor asked hesitantly.

Michael glanced back over his shoulder at Tina, who had barely come into the house. Her face was buried in her phone, and she was texting. "Unfortunately," he muttered.

"Wow." Victor's eyes grew wide with astonishment. "How did that happen?"

Michael gave the kid a look. Really? Did he really not know _how_ it had happened?

"I'm serious," Victor said, "I'm really unclear on all the details."

"You're in ninth grade." Didn't they at least have sex ed or something?

"I know, and I'm still unclear. My parents don't talk to me about that stuff."

Well, Michael didn't exactly want to bear that responsibility, but he also knew that boys Victor's age had to get _some_ knowledge one way or the other. It wasn't healthy to repress all those hormones. "Alright, listen, I got a _Playboy_ out in the trunk of my car," he leaned over and whispered. "You sneak out there and look at it later."

" _Playboy_?" Victor echoed.

"It's educational. You'll like it." This poor kid was way too sheltered; he had to start . . . figuring out the facts. "Don't go gettin' any ideas, though," he warned, although he was pretty confident that Victor would be the type of kid to feel his urges but never really act on them. "My sister's in a bad spot."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm waiting until I'm married," Victor proclaimed.

"Really?" Michael almost laughed, because it was just so unrealistic these days. But then again, maybe it wasn't for Victor. "I mean, yeah. Of course."

Victor took a deep breath and asked, "How do I look?"

"Uh . . ."

Without even waiting for a response, he slinked past Michael and planted himself in front of Michael's sister. "Hey, Tina," he said, sounding all star-struck.

It took her a second to glance up from her phone. "Hey . . ." she said, "what's your name again?"

Michael smirked. Poor Victor.

Sarah tore herself away from her father when he went to say something to Michael's mom, and when she looked at Victor and Tina, she must have noticed the same vibe he had. "He has a crush on her," she said.

"Big time," Michael agreed, putting his arm around his girlfriend. "I wish she was with a kid like him. He's a hell of a lot better than Nicholas."

...

Diane Evans was preparing a feast, by the looks of it, something fit for twelve people rather than just five. Her gigantic kitchen smelled _amazing._ There were so many different delectable aromas wafting in the air, everything from a macaroni and corn casserole to the turkey itself. And she seemed to have it all under control. She literally had a schedule taped up onto the refrigerator for what needed to be cooked when and by what time it needed to be done. And she seemed to be following it down to the second.

Maria mostly tried to stay out of the way.

"Okay, Max, will you help me out with this?" Diane asked her son, opening one of the two ovens she had in use.

"Sure," he said, putting on an oven mitt and picking up a pot holder.

"I just need you to take that out and give it a good stir," she told him. "Then put it back in for twenty more minutes, and it should be done."

"Is there anything we can do, Diane?" Amy asked.

 _No, don't volunteer us,_ Maria thought frantically. If she tried to do anything, she'd probably screw it up.

"Oh, you two are my guests," Diane said. "Just take Dylan into the living room and relax."

Relieved, Maria asked, "Are you sure?" just for the sake of being polite.

"Go ahead. Max and I have got it covered, Maria." She smiled at her . . . politely? Kindly? Maria wasn't quite sure. Diane had been nothing but welcoming since they'd shown up, but she still couldn't help but worry that the woman wasn't particularly thrilled to have her there. She hadn't done or said anything to indicate that, but still . . .

Maria left the kitchen with her mom and her son, and they settled in the living room. Dylan looked bored, though, because there weren't many kids' toys here, and he'd only brought a few cars from home. He sat down on the middle of the floor and started to play with them. As an only child, he was more than accustomed to playing by himself, and he didn't seem to mind when Maria and Amy sat down on the leather couch instead.

"This is quite the house," Amy remarked.

"Yeah." All the houses in Roswell Historic District were nice. Large and fancy. You definitely had to have some kind of money to live here.

"You couldn't have dressed a little nicer?" her mom bit out suddenly.

Maria looked down at the sweatshirt she had on. Michael's sweatshirt, technically, but no one needed to know that. "It's cold outside," she said. Her plan had been to look casual, because she didn't want Diane to think she was trying too hard.

"And now you're inside," her mom snapped.

Rolling her eyes, Maria pulled her arms out of the sleeves and lifted the sweatshirt over her head. "Better?" she asked, laying it over her lap.

"I suppose." Her mom reached over and tried to fix her hair.

"Mom . . ." She didn't think she looked horrible, so she hated the scrutiny. "Please don't be a bitch to me today. It's Thanksgiving."

"I'm not-" Her mom started to argue, but miraculously, she stopped herself, took a breath, and nodded in agreement. "You're right. We have a lot to be thankful for."

"Yeah. Starting with the obvious." Maria looked at Dylan, who was crawling all over the floor now, slinging his cars back and forth on the floor, apparently trying to make them have some sort of race.

"I'm thankful for, uh, someone else this year, too," Amy announced suddenly.

Not deluded enough to think she was referring to her, Maria fearfully asked, "Who?" sensing that she already knew.

"You're not gonna like it," her mom warned.

"Oh, god." Maria knew instantly when she said that. There wasn't even a doubt in her mind who her mom was referring to. "I knew this was bound to happen. You're back together with Kyle's dad, aren't you?"

"Jim and I . . . we—we have a connection," her mother sputtered. "An attraction, one that never really goes away. And he's been in a rough place ever since his son was injured. He and Diane broke up over a year ago, and he hasn't really dated anyone since."

"So now he's just giving it another shot with you." It seemed . . . redundant, at this point.

"We can't ignore what we feel for each other," her mother went on. "Honestly, I thought I had moved on, and then last month we ran into each other and just started talking again and . . . I don't know, I guess I didn't realize just how much I had missed him until he was back in my life again."

Maria lowered her head, looking down at the sweatshirt in her lap. "It's a bad idea," she mumbled.

"Why?" Amy challenged. "I'm not with anyone else; he's not with anyone else. We're free to be together if we want."

Maria felt her stomach tighten.

"And it _is_ what we want. So try to be happy for me, okay?"

Maria couldn't force a smile, and she couldn't even really agree to try to be happy. So she just sat there and didn't say anything at all, because she figured that was the best way to avoid an argument.

...

"Good to see you up and around again."

"Yeah." Kyle handed his father a beer, keeping one for himself. He sat down on the couch and grabbed the remote, pointing it at the TV as he pushed up on the volume button. Cowboys/Panthers. _Great_ Thanksgiving day matchup.

"So where's Tess?" his dad asked as he took a swig.

Kyle popped open the tab on his can, not sure how much he wanted to say. "She's, uh . . . she's home in Roswell today, with her family."

"Yeah? Why didn't you go with her?"

He took a drink, shrugging. "I don't know." He _did_ know, though. This morning, he'd offered to go with her, and she'd told him she would rather go alone.

Jim reached over and took the remote off of Kyle's lap, turning down the volume on the game, something he rarely ever did. "You two havin' problems?" he asked outright.

Kyle really didn't want to go too in-depth, but then again, it had to be obvious. "We're, uh . . . we're having . . ." He sucked it up and just blurted it out. ". . . a baby."

His father's eyes widened. "A . . . a baby?" he echoed in surprise. He looked like he wanted to say more, but no words came out.

"Yeah, I found out last week."

The only sounds that escaped his father were a few astonished grunts and laughs. And then he said, "Congratulations, son," and literally shook his hand.

"Yeah." Kyle shook it back limply. So far, it wasn't something that had proved to be . . . congratulatory. He and Tess had barely talked since Michael had brought her back to Carlsbad. The only good part about that was that they hadn't fought, either.

"This is really something," his father went on. "I'm gonna be a grandfather?"

"Yeah, you are."

"And you're gonna be a dad."

He nodded solemnly, feeling tears sting his eyes. "Probably not a very good one," he mumbled.

His dad frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Look at me, Dad."

"I am. And you know what I see? A guy who's improving. A couple months ago, I never saw you walkin'. And now . . ."

"Oh, yeah, I'm haulin' ass," Kyle grumbled sarcastically, shaking his head. "I think I really screwed up, Dad."

"What do you mean?"

He rubbed his forehead, embarrassed to admit the things he'd said to Tess, the things he'd suggested she do. It had just been the heat of the moment, the shock of it all. He hadn't really meant any of it. "When she told me . . . I reacted pretty badly."

"Well, that's natural," his father assured him, "given your situation. This isn't how you thought your life would go. But Kyle, that doesn't mean this isn't the best thing to ever happen to you."

He swallowed hard and nodded, hoping it would be. At this point . . . he needed it to be.

...

Michael had high expectations for Thanksgiving dinner at the Nguyen house. Naturally, if Sarah's father was the one who was preparing it and he was the one who had taught her everything she knew about cooking, it had to be good. And it was. The turkey was juicy, the casseroles delicious, the stuffing stuffed him up, and even the buttery rolls tasted better than they would at anyone else's Thanksgiving dinner. The Nguyens knew how to cook.

About halfway through the meal, the conversation had shifted from Victor's high school classes to the classes his and Sarah's older cousin was now taking. Bryan Nguyen was a few years older than Sarah, and he was currently in his first year of medical school. Apparently the guy was a genius, or at least he seemed like it, because Michael was blown away when he was talking about the things he was studying. Pathology. Microbiology. _Neuroscience._ He didn't seem stuck-up about it, though; he was actually pretty modest.

"Yeah, it's been exhausting," he was saying, "but I'm loving it. I'm loving every second of it."

"That's great, Bryan," Vivian said to her nephew. "I always had a feeling you'd end up in the medical field."

"Asian in the medical field," he joked. "Imagine that."

Michael smirked. Good, he hadn't wanted to be the one to say it.

"I can't even imagine being in med school," Sarah piped up as she moved some food around her plate. "Just the thought of pharmacy school freaks me out."

"You'll get in," her cousin assured her.

"I hope so."

Michael gave her a look.

"What?" she said.

"Really?" She _hoped_ she would get into pharmacy school? Sarah was the smartest girl he knew; there was no way she wouldn't get in.

"You never know what could happen," she said.

Michael's mom cleared his throat and asked, "Where do you think you wanna go, Sarah?"

"I don't know," she answered. "I mean, I won't be able to stay in Carlsbad for that, obviously. And Michael's gonna need to do grad school, too."

"What are you studying again, Michael?" Bryan asked him.

"Uh, psychology." His classes probably paled in comparison to the classes Bryan had taken as an undergrad, and he knew they were easier than Sarah's.

"I like psychology," Bryan said. "And you know, it's very connected with the healthcare realm."

"Michael wants to be a school counselor," Sarah said proudly. "He's really good with kids."

"Is he now?" Sarah's aunt shot her a pointed look, one that Michael noticed.

"Well, if that's what you're pursuing, your options are wide open," Bryan said. "You can find a master's program in psychology almost anywhere."

"Maybe we'll end up in Albuquerque," Sarah speculated.

Bryan did a little fist-pump for his school.

"I mean, we haven't really talked about it much yet or anything," Sarah said, "but I know I've looked into it a bit, and that might be a good place for me to go to pharmacy school."

 _Albuquerque,_ Michael thought. He'd known for a while now that he'd probably end up there. Away from Kyle and Tess and the godson or goddaughter he'd have. Away from . . . everything.

"It would be a good place," Bryan confirmed. "Not too far away from home. You'd love it there."

 _That's still a ways off,_ Michael reminded himself. He was only a junior. One more year of undergrad to get through first.

Just as things got quiet at the table, Michael's sister shocked the hell out of him when, out of nowhere, she just asked, "When are you guys gonna get married?"

He nearly choked on the piece of turkey he was chewing, and Sarah actually did drop her fork on her plate. _Thanks, Tina,_ he thought sarcastically. _Nice of you to put me on the spot in front of my girlfriend's whole family._

Luckily for him, Sarah wasn't so rattled that she couldn't formulate an answer. "Someday," she replied vaguely, keeping that ever-present, ever-reassuring smile on her face.

"Someday," Michael agreed, reaching below the table to squeeze her leg. Yeah, that worked for him. They didn't need to have anything set in stone right now.

After dinner got over, they went into the living room and played charades in teams of three. Sarah's whole family was really good at it. Tina didn't want to play, though, so Sarah took her place on the Guerin team. They didn't end up winning, but they weren't last, either. After that, it was time for pumpkin pie for dessert, and at that point, it was starting to get dark outside. Michael knew his mom and sister would have to go.

He grabbed Tina as she was getting her shoes on and pulled her outside onto the porch just to have a word with her.

"Does Victor have a crush on me?" she asked right away. "Because Nicholas is way hotter."

"But Victor's way smarter. And nicer. And . . . better," Michael argued.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I wish Nicholas could've come today."

"You wanted your boyfriend to come to my girlfriend's family's Thanksgiving?" He made a face. "Never gonna happen."

She groaned, taking her cell phone out of her coat pocket when it buzzed. He grabbed it from her, not about to let her get lost in another text conversation with Nicholas when he was standing in front of her, trying to have a real one.

"Hey!" she yelped. "Give that back."

He held it up out of her reach and got right down to it. "Why would you say that today?"

"Say what?" she asked innocently.

Oh, as if she didn't know. "That whole 'when-you-gonna-get-married?' thing. It really kinda put me on the spot."

She shrugged. "I was just curious. You guys were talking about the future, and . . . I don't know."

"It's just . . . maybe you could've _not_ said anything in front of her parents and her grandmother and her whole family."

"Have you guys talked about it?"

"What? We—we haven't . . . it's not . . ." He kept trailing off and starting over, unable to collect his thoughts. "We—we know it's gonna happen someday; we don't feel like there's a certain timeframe to do it."

"Hmm." She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and asked, "Don't you think that's kind of weird?"

"What—what do you mean?" he sputtered.

"Well, you knew Maria for, like, a couple months and you were proposing to her. But you and Sarah have been dating for two years now, and you still haven't."

Okay. Now he was starting to get pissed off. What the hell was she insinuating here? "That's 'cause I'm smarter and way more mature now," he said. "I'm not just gonna rush into something just 'cause it feels like the right thing to do, and for the record, it was, like, eight months before I proposed to Maria."

"I just don't see why you're waiting so long this time."

"Because sometimes people wait, Tina," he said, purposefully patronizing her since she insisted on acting like such a child. "They wait to get married and have babies, and it works out better for them in in the long run."

"Oh, ha, ha," she droned, "you're so funny."

"I'm just saying . . ."

"You know what?" she spat, seizing her phone back from him. "You're being a major hypocrite, Michael."

"How?"

"Because, ever since you found out I was pregnant, you've been going out of your way to tell me how Nicholas and I aren't gonna work out, how we're just doomed, how we're gonna make each other miserable."

"Yeah, so?"

" _So_?" She huffed and glared at him in disbelief. "Don't you even remember how upset you used to get when Dad and Maria's mom and all these other people would say that stuff about you and her? Don't you remember how much that would piss you off?"

Of course he did. But this . . . this was different.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she grumbled.

"Okay, fine, it used to piss me off," he acknowledged. "But guess what: In the long run, all those people who doubted us were right. Maybe I should've listened to 'em."

"Oh, please," she scoffed.

"But I didn't. And I got my heart broken. So did you ever think that maybe I say all this stuff to you _because_ I love you? Maybe I'm just trying to spare you the heartbreak."

"Spare me the lecture," she grumbled, lowering her head, thumbs tapping away at her cell phone screen again.

He shook his head, completely and utterly frustrated with her. He never thought he'd find himself in this fatherly role with her, but . . . dammit, there was no one else around to do the job.

...

Even though she'd been no help preparing the dinner, Maria knew she could be of help cleaning up after it. While her mother went outside to take a phone call from Jim and Max went upstairs to help Dylan through some post-feast digestive issues, she helped Diane take everything into the kitchen and load it up in the dishwasher. Diane then proceeded to prepare about a dozen bowls of leftovers for them, so many that Maria wouldn't be able to carry them all out on her own.

"Thanks, Diane," she said. "Thanks for having us today. I know it must have been a lot of work to cook so much."

"Oh, I enjoyed it," Diane assured her. "You know, ever since I separated from my husband, I haven't had too many of these family dinners. And that was years ago, so . . . this was a nice change of pace."

Maria nodded, though it was hard not to dwell on the obvious elephant in the room, the fact that one very pertinent part of Diane's family wasn't there.

 _Maybe I shouldn't say anything,_ she thought. The whole day had gone so well, so peacefully. Her mom and Max's mom were really hitting it off, and Dylan hadn't seemed to have any problem entertaining _two_ grandmas. But the whole time they'd been there, Maria hadn't been able to shake that feeling of worry, the one that made her think Diane just _had_ to be harboring some type of ill will towards her.

"Look, Diane," she started in softly, thinking that she might feel better if she just cleared the air. "I know we don't know each other very well. And some of the things you _do_ know about me are . . . well, less than flattering."

"Maria, I—I know what you're getting at," Diane broke in. "And it's okay."

"It's not," she insisted. "I just want you to know how deeply ashamed I am of everything that happened back then."

"You were in love," Diane said simply. "I've been there. Don't forget, Jim Valenti and I had feelings for each other when he was still with your mom. And even though I don't like to admit it . . . yes, we _did_ act on those feelings."

Maria had actually forgotten about that. Diane seemed so good and pure, but maybe everyone had a little bit of a dark side. Or maybe everyone just made mistakes. "So you don't hold that against me?" she asked. "I would understand if you do, given how things have turned out with Isabel."

"Isabel." Diane had to blink back tears at the mere mention of her daughter. "Isabel is . . . just not the girl I raised her to be. And it breaks my heart. I miss her every day, but if she can't get her life back on track . . ." She trailed off, sighing. "It's sad. But I just try to concentrate on Max and on how much progress he's made. I suppose I owe you some thanks for that."

"Oh, no, it was all him," Maria said.

"But I'm sure when you took him back, you helped him find that forgiveness he was looking for. I've seen such a change in him."

"Yeah." And it was such a good change. Maria understood why Diane would rather celebrate that than dwell on Isabel. "Well . . . thanks," she said. "I'm glad you let me get that out in the open."

"Of course," Diane said. "Come here." She opened her arms and pulled Maria in for a hug. A real hug, too, not the crappy kind she got from her own mother.

"I'm glad you're part of the family," Diane said. "It'll be nice to have someone to think of as a daughter again."

Maria smiled shakily, blinking back tears of her own now. God. Why was it that other moms were so much nicer to her than her real one was?

...

Michael slept well. Like a baby, in fact. He woke up earlier than he normally would have just _because_ he'd gotten such good, solid sleep. The Nguyen's guest room was . . . freaking palatial.

When he plodded downstairs, he heard movement in the kitchen, and he smelled something good. As it turned out, Sarah's father was already awake, and he was making breakfast. "Good morning," he said to Michael.

"Morning," Michael returned.

"Sleep well?"

"Great." He actually kind of regretted that they were only staying one night. Another night in that bed would have been fine by him. Although the obvious plus side of going home was getting to share a bed with Sarah. He couldn't very well do that in her parents' house.

"You like scrambled eggs?" Tim asked.

"Who doesn't?" Michael went up to the counter, and Tim handed him a whisk.

"Go ahead and stir that," he instructed.

Michael stared down at the mixture of egg yolks and milk in the bowl. "I'm a really bad cook," he admitted. "Seriously, if it wasn't for your daughter, I'd starve."

Tim chuckled. "She's a good cook."

"Good girlfriend," Michael added, reluctantly stirring. God, he hoped he didn't screw this up. Nobody could really screw up scrambled eggs . . . right?

"Is she awake yet?" Tim asked as he quickly, expertly chopped up a few green peppers. He already had a small pile of chopped tomatoes and diced ham.

"Nah, I peaked in her room when I got up, but she's still sleeping," Michael replied.

"Really? She's usually not a late riser."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. She can sleep late when she wants to," Michael told him. "Sometimes when she doesn't have to work or have any studying to do, she just wants to stay in bed all day." He realized how inappropriate that sounded, so he quickly added, "To sleep. Just sleeping."

Tim laughed again, motioning for him to pour the eggy mixture into the frying pan. Michael did so carefully, convinced that he was going to somehow make a mess of this.

"So your sister really put you on the spot yesterday," Tim said as he dumped small handfuls of the ham, pepper, and tomatoes in with the egg mixture, "asking you when you and Sarah planned to get married and all."

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "I wasn't really . . . expecting that."

"Oh, expect it," Tim said, picking up the spatula so he could slide the contents in the frying pan all about. "After you've been with someone for a while, people start . . . I don't want to say pressuring, because that's not quite the right word. But people _will_ ask about it."

"Victor's asked before," Michael told him.

"Oh, I'm sure he has." Tim slid all the mixture away from the sides so it wouldn't get stuck there as it started to form, then handed the spatula over to Michael. "You know, I dated Vivian for three years before I proposed to her," he revealed. "But I just had to wait until the time was right, for both of us."

"Yeah." That made him feel better. He didn't want Sarah's dad to think he was dragging his feet or anything.

"But I just want you to know," Tim added, "that it's an incredible thing for me to be able to see my daughter loved by a man like you."

 _A man,_ Michael thought, soaking that all in. _I'm a man to him, not a boy._ It gave him a good feeling.

"And whenever the time is right," Tim went on, "and you do feel compelled to ask her . . ." He smiled kindly. "You have my blessing."

 _Holy shit,_ Michael thought. This was . . . huge. He was so taken aback that he couldn't really form any words, so he just smiled back and nodded, silently communicating his appreciation. It was good to know that he could fit in so well with this family, this family that was _so_ different from his own, and that they wanted him around for a long time to come.

...

"Wait, so you asked for his blessing?" Kyle inquired for clarification as he waded around the five foot deep part of the indoor pool at the rec center.

Sitting on the side with his feet dangling in, Michael said, "No, he just gave it to me." Days had passed since his surprisingly heartfelt conversation with Sarah's dad, and he still wasn't over it.

"Wow," Kyle said. "That's . . ."

"I know. Remember when I used to be every parent's worst nightmare?"

Kyle laughed, changing positions so that he was floating on his back now. "Wasn't that long ago."

"No," Michael agreed. Sometimes it was weird that so much had changed so quickly. "Anyway . . . it was a good time."

"You like her family, huh?"

"I love her family."

"And her family loves you."

"Yeah, thank God." He'd certainly dealt with enough disapproving parents in his lifetime, from Jeff Parker to Diane Evans. Though Amy DeLuca was certainly the most notable. That woman had _never_ liked him. Sarah's parents were a nice change of pace.

Kyle put his feet down again, treading water for a bit. "My dad and I actually had a pretty good time, too," he said.

"Did you tell him about . . ." He trailed off, because it wasn't necessary to even say it.

"Yeah."

"How'd he react?"

"He was really . . . supportive and happy for me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Michael was glad to hear that. Jim wasn't a bad guy at all—hell, back in high school, Michael had practically idolized him. The man scored more than tail than a slow kid at the petting zoo—but he had a history of being pretty hard on Kyle sometimes, expecting a lot of him. The last couple years had softened him up a lot.

"You know," Kyle said as he used his arm muscles to push himself up out of the pool, taking a seat on the side with Michael, "he used to be so focused on the football dream, but obviously that got shot to hell. So now I think he realizes he needs new dreams for me. And seeing me be a dad must be one of 'em."

Michael nodded. "It's a good dream to have."

"Yeah," Kyle agreed. "But I think I'd feel better about it if I was sure I'd be good at it."

"You will be," Michael assured him. He'd already seen a change in Kyle, just from the night he'd wheeled himself over to his apartment until now. Like today, for instance. Kyle had _initiated_ a workout session here at the pool. That never would have happened at the start of the school year.

"I don't know," Kyle sighed skeptically. "Tess and I . . . we're pretty distant right now. She's got her guard up around me."

"You'll still be a good dad," Michael promised him. And maybe seeing him step into that role would help Tess learn to love him or trust him again. "Just don't be like my dad. That . . . sucked."

Kyle shot him a sympathetic glance and said, "No, I won't be like him. But I don't really wanna be like my dad, either. I mean, I love the guy, but . . . he just had that tunnel vision all the time. It was a lot of pressure growing up."

Michael remembered that. He remembered the nights when Kyle had been dealing with so much pressure at home that he'd had to come over and sleep on his couch or his bedroom floor, just to feel like he could breathe again. "So what kind of dad do you wanna be like?" he asked his friend.

"Honestly?" Kyle looked right at him and smiled. "You."

Michael stared at him in disbelief. _What?_ he thought. _Me?_ Out of all the people Kyle could possibly want to emulate . . .

Kyle looked down towards the other end of the pool, smiling wistfully, hopefully. "I wanna be like you were with Dylan," he said.

Michael felt a lump form in the back of his throat. He wanted to say something, maybe even joke about it somehow, but he was so stunned that words escaped him. Never in a million years had he thought that anyone would want to be like him, at least not the high school version of him. But then again . . . maybe he hadn't been all bad. Dylan had always been able to bring the good parts of him out.

It was weird, but for the first time since finding out that Kyle and Tess were going to be parents, he realized just how envious he was.


	36. Chapter 36

The end of Thanksgiving break brought about the return of normal routines. Michael returned to his classes, as did the kids at Pound. He wasn't scheduled to pull any practicum time on Monday, but he went anyway, just for the hell of it.

He volunteered to supervise lunch duty, and while he was doing that, he got a chance to watch Dylan interact with his friends. The kid was king of the lunch table. When he talked—and he did that a lot—all his friends listened. He seemed to have some genius trading system set up, too, where they would all swap sandwiches with each other if they brought cold lunch, and he always seemed to end up with the best one.

Michael smiled as he watched him. He was a pretty incredible kid.

"Hey."

He startled a bit, surprised when Maria was all of a sudden standing at his side. "Oh, hey," he said, noting that she was wearing the crimson Aggies sweatshirt he'd given her before break. It was big on her. "What're you doin' here?"

"I got a phone call from Vanessa Whitaker," she explained, "something about Dylan's circle of friends." A concerned look crossed her face. "What's going on? Are his friends being mean to him? Is he being mean to them?"

"No, that's not . . ." He put his hand on her shoulder and motioned her out of the lunch room. "Here, come with me," he said, ushering her towards the office. There were other staff members supervising the lunchroom, so it wouldn't be a big deal for him to slip away. "Vanessa's in a meeting right now, but I can explain it to you," he offered, opening the door to his supervisor's office. He took a seat in her chair, unaccustomed to sitting on that side of the desk, and she sat down across from him.

"You look so grown up," she remarked.

He smiled a bit, wordlessly accepting the compliment. Never in a million years had he pictured them sitting together like this, in these roles. It was funny how things worked out.

"So what's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing. Uh . . . it's a good thing, actually," he assured her. "See, Circle of Friends is what we do here for the kids who have problems socializing. We pick the kids who are good, positive leaders—like Dylan—and we teach 'em how to interact with the kids who struggle."

"Like the new kid you're gonna work with, the autistic one."

"Yeah. We thought Dylan would be a good fit in his Circle of Friends."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought something bad was going on."

"No, it's good. It's a compliment, really, to him and to . . . you know, how you've raised him." He felt weird saying that, only because . . . he knew he'd played a part in raising Dylan, too. Not as big of a part as she had, obviously, but in a way, it was nice to think that maybe he'd instilled some good qualities back when he'd been in that father figure role. "Anyway, he doesn't have to do it, but usually the kids end up enjoying it, and it's a good chance for them to learn how to treat someone who's a little bit different."

"Yeah," she said. "What exactly do they do?"

"It's not a huge commitment or anything. Just about once or twice a month, we pull the group into the office here, and they have lunch together. We try to talk about stuff goin' on at school, like if there's a game or a field trip or a dance coming up. And the kids in the circle help model and demonstrate how you're supposed to act in those social situations. It's not like it'll be some huge extra responsibility for him."

"Right." She nodded enthusiastically. "I think it sounds good. I think he'd like being a part of it."

"Yeah, I think so, too." He opened Vanessa's bottom right desk drawer, pulled a yellow paper out of a folder, and handed it to her. "Anyway, here's the official information about it, but it's pretty much what I just told you. So talk to him about it, and . . . I don't know, talk to Max." He couldn't help but roll his eyes just saying that guy's name. "If you guys want him to do it, just sign the bottom of that form and get it back to us. You could even give it to me in class."

"Okay," she said, folding up the paper and sticking it in her purse. "Sounds good. Thanks." She just sat there then for a few seconds, as if she wasn't sure whether she should leave or not. And he wasn't sure, either. There wasn't much more to say about the Circle thing, but . . . she didn't have to leave.

She pushed the chair back and stood up, though, heading for the door.

"Nice sweatshirt," he said just to stop her.

She plucked at the bottom of it and asked, "Do you want it back?"

"No." He had plenty. Besides . . . it looked better on her anyway.

...

For some reason, Maria had always pictured Tess and Kyle living in a big house together. Maybe it was because Kyle had seemed destined for pro-football stardom back when she'd known him, destined to rake in millions. Or maybe it was because Tess had lived in a pretty big house back in high school. But none of that had materialized for them. Maria was actually quite surprised when she drove to their house and saw where they lived after getting their address from Michael. It was . . . small. Even smaller than the house her mom owned. There was a wheelchair ramp out front, rows of dead flowers near the side of the house, and paint chipping away all over.

 _Mental note,_ she thought as she got out of the car, _Max has some potential customers here._ What remained of the paint on the house was an awful pea green color. Max could probably make it more of a sea foam.

Kyle was sitting out on the front steps, gulping down a sizeable bottle of water, beads of sweat trickling down his head. His clothes looked damp, like he'd been working out.

"Hey, Kyle," she said.

"Oh, hey, Maria," he returned. "How you doin'?"

"Good." She stepped in front of him and asked, "Did you just get back from a run?"

"No, a walk."

 _Oh god, I'm so stupid,_ she thought. Of course he hadn't been running.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Nothing." She sat down beside him, hoping she wasn't intruding or being a nuisance. "I just had some spare time today, so I thought I'd stop by and say . . . congratulations." It sounded so cheesy and lame, but she didn't want to _not_ say it.

"Thanks," he said. "Who told you?"

"Michael. But I kinda already knew."

Kyle took another big drink of water, down at the bottom of his bottle now. "It was . . . unexpected."

"Yeah. I get that." She was the queen of an unexpected pregnancy.

"I can't imagine what you went through when you were in high school," he said, squirting what remained of his water onto his head. "I mean, I'm twenty-one, and I'm still freaking out. I feel like I'm just not ready. Scared and unprepared."

Maria laughed lightly as she recalled that feeling. "Yeah, I remember feeling the exact same way. But it worked out. It's been really hard, but it's been worth it." All the good times she'd had with Dylan far outweighed any hardships.

"Can I ask you something?" he said suddenly.

She nodded.

"Something personal."

She nodded again.

"When you told Max you were pregnant . . . how'd he react?"

Inwardly, she shuddered, because that wasn't a happy memory to think back on. "Not well."

"Did he . . ." Kyle lowered his voice, seemingly hesitant to ask, "Did he tell you to get an abortion?"

She tensed, unable to say anything. The only person she'd ever had this conversation with was Michael.

"Because I didn't say those exact words to Tess," he went on, "but I . . . heavily implied it."

For a moment, she was taken aback, just because she'd never expected Kyle to have that reaction. Even though she'd never known him all that well, he'd always struck her as a really calm, collected guy. But his injury had definitely changed him. "Is that what you want?" she asked, removing any and all judgment from her tone. He was entitled to react to the twists and turns in his life however he wanted to, even if it was insensitive.

"No," he insisted. "I just said it in the heat of the moment. But ever since then, she's been pretty mad at me. We've barely even talked."

She sighed, doubting there would ever be an easy way for Tess and Kyle to overcome this. Whatever conversation they'd had was one that they would both remember. Forever. "It takes time," she said. "It took a long time for me to forgive Max."

"How'd you do it?" he asked, sounding as if he were almost desperate to know.

She shrugged, wishing she could give him a concrete answer. "It just happened. Max isn't the same guy he used to be."

"Yeah." Kyle drew the word out sadly, regretfully. "Neither am I. But Max changed for the better; I changed for the worse."

"But you're still you." Just the fact that they were even having this conversation was a good sign. "I think if you start to believe in yourself again, then Tess will start to believe in you, too."

He nodded contemplatively, managing the smallest of smiles. "Thanks, Maria," he said, sounding genuinely grateful for the advice. And she was happy to give it. After all the years of being a walking, talking cautionary tale for young girls everywhere, it was nice to be able to draw on her own experience to try to help someone else out.

...

"For those of you taking the follow-up to this course next semester . . ." The professor tapped the white board, where he had written _Music Appreciation 2_ sloppily. "I'll be teaching my section on the same days at the same times. Now if that doesn't fit in your schedule, there will be another section of the class offered on Wednesday evenings. It's taught by another professor, and it goes from 7:00 to 10:00. So it's a bit of a tradeoff: only one class per week, but it's for a larger block of time."

Michael shifted in his seat, starting to tune the young professor out when he started discussing the curriculum they would cover next semester. He didn't care what the hell the music was that they were appreciating. He just wondered . . . if Maria would be appreciating it.

He looked at her, quietly asking, "So are you gonna take that class with the same professor then? You think?"

She squirmed in her seat a bit and answered, "Uh, yeah, probably. But I have to wait to register, 'cause I'm still just a freshman."

"Oh, yeah." He forgot about that. She was a year older than him, but he had far more college courses under his belt. "I think I'm gonna register tonight," he told her, trying to casually mention what was on his mind. He felt awkward, so he finally just said it. "Actually, I was thinking about maybe taking another music class next semester."

Her eyebrows shot upward questioningly. "Like Music Appreciation?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Well, I'm kind of ahead on my credits," he explained. "So there's really only three classes I _have_ to take next semester. But I have to take four to be a full-time student, and I have to be a full-time student to keep my scholarships, so . . ." He was just being logical.

"So why not take another psychology class then?"

Yeah. That was a good question. "I don't wanna overload on psych," he said. "I mean, I love it, obviously, but I kinda wanna do something different, too."

"So naturally . . . Music Appreciation."

He held up two fingers. " _Dos_."

The guy in front of them turned around and shushed them, but they only stayed quiet for a minute before picking up the conversation again.

"Don't you have any other general classes left to take?" she asked him.

"Nope." Technically he didn't even have to be taking this one, but surprisingly, he actually kind of enjoyed it. "Besides, Vanessa mentioned to me that it might be good to take another music class. 'cause that Jake kid who I'm gonna work with . . . music's, like, the only thing he responds to. It calms him." They were giving the kid two music classes each day, just because they thought it might give him a sense of stability and an outlet to express himself. "So maybe I can learn something that'll help reach him," he summarized. And he wasn't just blowing smoke by saying that. He'd done the research, and he knew that a lot of school counselors were seeking out music education experiences, because music reached kids in a way traditional methods couldn't.

"Yeah, I think taking a semester-long class goes above and beyond the call of duty, though," Maria said skeptically.

"What're you saying? You don't want me to take the class with you?" He decided to pull out the charm and the teasing grin, knowing he could get her to lighten up about it. "You don't wanna see me get a hundred percent on all my tests? Is that what you're saying?" he joked.

That reluctant smile he'd grown so accustomed to seeing tugged at her lips, and she shook her head. "God, you're an ass."

He smirked.

"Do whatever you think is best for you, Michael," she told him. "It's fine by me either way."

 _What's best for me?_ he thought. It didn't matter if it was what was best for him; it was what he wanted to do.

He went home that night, got online, and signed up for his classes. The system the university had was pretty much like , except instead of putting products into your shopping cart, you put classes in there. He got the educational psychology class he wanted, plus professor Barnaby's Personality Theory class. He had to sign up for Research Methodology . . . and then there was Music Appreciation 2. He put it in his cart, but he hesitated once it was time to hit the _Register Now_ button. He'd been thinking about this class for a while, mulling over the possibility of it, but for the first time since he'd decided he would take it . . . he started second-guessing himself. And his motives.

 _Be a full-time student,_ he reminded himself. _Don't overload on psych. Help the autistic kid._ Those were all valid reasons.

The door swung open while he was still staring at the screen, and in came Sarah, wearing her scrubs. "Hey, baby," she chirped.

He quickly clicked the registration button and closed out of the browser window. "Hey."

...

Every morning at her pastry shop, Liz made three dozen traditional donuts, and every morning, she frosted them and put sprinkles on them. Normally, it was a task she could finish quickly, but when somebody stopped by to talk, it took her a lot longer. Especially when that person was Max.

He stayed for a while, because he didn't have to be on the construction site until 10:30 that day. He told her all about an interesting conversation he'd had with Maria last night. Apparently Michael was planning on taking a spring semester music class. Which Liz thought was weird.

"So are you sure you're okay with it?" she asked him for at least the third time. He kept saying it was fine, but she wasn't quite certain she believed him.

"Yeah." He dropped a few snowflake sprinkles onto a blue frosted donut, assisting her, even though her progress had virtually halted. "And I'm glad she was just upfront with me about it instead of trying to keep it a secret."

"Yeah, that's good," she agreed. But still . . . it just struck her as very . . . odd. She knew Michael; she remembered him coming into the Crashdown as a junior in high school, complaining about how much he hated choir, grumbling that he was only taking it because he'd been kicked out of art class and needed fine arts credits to graduate.

Even though Max probably didn't want to hear it, Liz couldn't help but question the whole situation a little more. "Don't you think it's at all weird, though?" she said. "I mean, what's next, is he gonna change his whole major?"

"It's just one more class, Liz," Max said evenly. "And Maria even offered to take the Wednesday night section, but I don't want her to do that."

She understood that—Maria was a mom, after all, and evenings were when she got to spend her time with Dylan—but one night a week wasn't so bad. Maybe Max should have asked her to do that. "I just . . . look, I really admire and respect how calm and mature you've been about all this," she said, reaching across the counter to put her hand on top of his. "But if something ever doesn't feel right to you and you think you need to put your foot down, don't be afraid to do it."

He squeezed her hand momentarily, then let it go. "I appreciate your concern, Liz," he told her. "But it's fine. I know Maria and I are solid, and have you seen Michael and Sarah together? It's pretty obvious how he feels about her."

"Yeah, Sarah's really great," Liz agreed. Hell, if she had any lesbian urges, _she'd_ probably be attracted to her. Sarah just had that type of personality that was impossible not to love. "I just want you to be careful."

"I've _been_ careful," he pointed out, "ever since that night on the bridge." He looked away, as if even just mentioning it ashamed him.

"Yeah, I know," she said softly. She was so proud of all the changes he'd made, and now she just didn't want anything—or anyone—to jeopardize it.

"Honestly, you wanna know the only part about this whole thing that irks me?" he said.

"What?"

"It has nothing to do with them having a class together. It's just . . ." He pressed his lips together tightly for a moment, as if he weren't even sure whether or not he wanted to say anything. "Michael, you know. Michael _Guerin_ of all people, the guy who _barely_ graduated high school, is now a star student at NMSU. And he's probably gonna have a great job someday. And then there's me, and I paint houses. And work construction." He motioned to the hard hat that was literally only a few feet away, hanging on the back of one of her chairs.

"Max . . ."

"And I know I have no one to blame but myself," he admitted, " 'cause I could still be in college if it wasn't for the drugs. I know that. But still . . ." He trailed off and sighed deeply. "This sounds really arrogant and selfish, but sometimes I feel like I deserve more. I mean, given my background and given Michael's, it's just kinda ironic we ended up where we did."

 _It's kinda_ lucky _you ended up anywhere at all,_ she thought, recalling how _completely_ messed up he'd been the night he'd gotten high and taken Dylan out of the Guerin home. She'd never seen someone so lost, so confused, and so terrified.

"I get what you're saying," she sympathized. "I mean, I love Scarlet, and I love my job, but . . . I'm in _one_ college class right now." And it was a business class, definitely _not_ the kind of thing that would help her become that molecular biologist she'd once dreamed of being. "This just isn't exactly what I pictured for myself."

"Right," he said. "It's not bad; it's just . . ."

"Different," she filled in.

"Yeah." He stared at her for a few seconds, then cleared his throat and said, "Anyway, I gotta get to work. But tell Scarlet I'll stop by tomorrow night."

"I will," she promised, though Scarlet was way too young to comprehend that. She wouldn't know he was coming, but when he showed up, her whole face would just sparkle, the way it always sparkled when she was with her daddy.

"Alright, well . . ." He grabbed his hard hat and said, "Thanks for listening, Liz." He gave her a quick smile, and then he turned and headed for the door. She watched him leave, glad that she was able to listen, to be his friend, his confidante. He didn't really have anyone else to _just_ talk to.

Just when she was thinking that she might be able to finish up frosting the damn donuts, Doug came into the shop, walking right past Max on his way in.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Hi," he returned. He looked back at Max as he walked out the door and down the sidewalk, a glint of intrigue in his eyes. "Who's that?" he asked. "He's gorgeous."

"That's Max," Liz told him, still getting accustomed his . . . gayness.

"New boyfriend?" he asked.

"Old boyfriend, actually. He's Scarlet's father."

"Oh, no wonder she's such a cute kid then. Great genetics on both sides," he complimented.

She laughed a little, thinking that it was probably more of Max's genetics than hers. She wasn't an ugly duckling by any means, but Max had that whole smoldering thing going on. He always had.

"Are you two getting back together?" Doug questioned.

"Oh, no. No," she answered quickly. "He's just . . . it's a friendship, nothing more."

"You sure?"

"Very." Why would he even ask that? Wasn't it obvious? "He's actually in a relationship with his other ex-girlfriend, who's the mother of his son," she informed him. "And also a really good friend of mine, so I would never . . ."

"Never?"

"Never." The thought didn't even cross her mind.

"Okay," Doug said, sighing. "I was just wondering."

She picked up a handful of the snowflake sprinkles and dumped a generous amount onto an abnormally small donut, trying to refocus herself. She wasn't upset at him for asking her about any of this, but she really hoped he wouldn't ask again. Sometimes it was better to just not wonder about things.

...

Bath and Body Works wasn't Michael's typical destination at the Carlsbad mall. In fact, no store was his typical destination at the mall, because he hated going there and avoided it like the plague. But when Maria had mentioned she was going after class to get some Christmas shopping done, he'd offered to go with her. Thus how he'd ended up at Bath and Body Works.

Once inside the store, he found himself intoxicated by the various aromas. He sniffed every free sample he could, going from scent to scent, amazed that each one smelled even better than the last. "Mmm," he said as he popped open the top of a pink bottle and inhaled eagerly. "Wow, this shit smells good. I feel like I could get high off this."

Maria came towards him and asked, "What kind is that?"

He looked at the label. "Sweet Pea."

"That's my favorite." She shuffled on down to a further shelf, though, sampling the smell of a fragrance he hadn't yet tried.

"I remember," he said quietly, sniffing the Sweet Pea again. She always used to put on that kind of lotion when she got out of the shower.

He put Sweet Pea down and tried the next scent, a purple bottle of body wash. "Ooh, look, Secret Wonderland," he said. He took a whiff, but it was a little too strong for his liking. "You know, that's what girls used to call my bedroom."

She rolled her eyes and grunted, "It didn't _smell_ like a secret wonderland, though."

"It got better after you moved in."

"Yeah, but before that, it was pretty bad." She grabbed a few bottles of lotion of bubble bath or whatever the hell all this stuff was and dumped them into her shopping basket, and he knew those weren't all for herself.

"So who you shoppin' for?" he asked.

"Liz."

He put Secret Wonderland back and moved closer to her. "Wait, isn't she, like, your best friend, though?"

"Pretty much."

"And you're gettin' her body wash for Christmas?"

Maria shrugged. "That's what she asked for."

"Lame." He knew girls well enough to know that body wash was the gift you gave someone when you had no idea what else to give.

"She doesn't want me to spend a lot of money," Maria said. "Besides, I'm gonna get her something else, too, like a nice shirt or a dress."

He made a face. "Do I have to tag along for that, too?" Women's clothing just wasn't his department. He had no idea what would look good on a girl. Although he was an expert on what looked good _off_ of them.

"You don't _have_ to tag along for anything," she pointed out. "I didn't ask you to come with me."

He grinned. "But aren't you glad I did?" This had to be way better than shopping by herself.

"Yes, actually, because I need to find something for Sarah," she replied in a rush, "but I have no idea what to get her."

"You don't have to get her anything."

"Yeah, I do," she insisted. "She's been really, _really_ nice and understanding."

He shrugged. "Sarah's easy to shop for. She'll like anything you get her."

She gave him a look and a sarcastic response. "Thanks, that's really helpful."

"What? She will."

"I was thinking maybe a cookbook," she said, readjusting her now-heavy basket. "But then I was like, no, she probably already knows how to make every single recipe in there."

"Then get her . . ." He reached out and took the basket from her. "I don't know, a calendar or something."

"A calendar." She sounded unenthused by the idea.

"Yeah."

"What kind?"

"I don't know. Puppies."

She groaned exaggeratedly and complained, "You are the _worst_ person to be doing this with."

"Hey, I'm not so bad," he proclaimed. "I might not agonize over gifts the way you do, but usually I end up giving some pretty good ones. Remember?"

A small, shy smile spread across her face, and he knew she was remembering their one and only Christmas together when he'd surprised her with a guitar. "Yeah."

He smiled as he remembered it, too. That damn guitar had cost him a pretty penny, but it'd been so worth it to see that happiness on her face, to hear her play it. It was the moment when he'd realized he was falling in love with her. He'd never forget it.

"You know, I still have that guitar," she said.

"Really?"

"Mmm-hmm. Best gift I ever got."

Best gift he'd ever given. "You ever play it?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I haven't for a long time."

Well . . . at least she still had it, though. "You should," he suggested. Even though Maria didn't long to be a singer anymore, music was still clearly a part of her, and that guitar brought the music out.

After they wrapped things up at Bath and Body Works, they walked deeper into the mall, to the part where Michael started to become overwhelmed with all the clothing stores. There was a Game Stop way down at the end, and he longed to go in there, but Maria went into some women's clothing store he couldn't even pronounce, so he went with her.

He had no idea what he was doing in there.

"What the hell is this?" he spat as he held up a strapless bright blue . . . something. "Is this a shirt or a dress? Because if it's a shirt, it's too long, but if it's a dress, it's _just_ right." Either way, it wasn't skimpy enough to maintain his interest, though, not when he noticed his favorite store just across from this one. "Ooh, Victoria's Secret," he said, putting the blue garment back on the rack. "Let's go in there."

"I am _not_ going in there with you," Maria voiced adamantly.

"Fine, I'll go by myself." He started to walk out, but she reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Wait a minute," she said. "Are you seriously gonna get your girlfriend lingerie for Christmas?"

"Yeah, why not? That's what I get her every year."

"That's not a gift for her; it's a gift for you," she said.

"Exactly. It's the gift that keeps on giving."

She rolled her eyes, reaching around him to grab the same leather jacket that was displayed on one of the mannequins in the window. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Get her this."

"This is cool," he said, examining it as she walked around him. Sarah would look great in this. Although it felt like real leather, which got him wondering how expensive it was. He took a glance at the price tag and almost fainted. "Oh, and costly." He hung it back up and decided, "I think I'll go with the shirt/dress." He could order the lingerie online.

He walked back over to the blue mystery item, searching through the sizes for what he guessed was Sarah's, and as he did so, he watched Maria. Watched her walk through and around all the racks of clothing, browsing but not necessarily settling on anything. He wondered if Max would come into a store like this within the next few weeks and get something nice for her, or if he already had. And then he wondered if maybe Max would get her lingerie, too. Just the thought of that pissed him off.

"So what do you think Max is gettin' you?" he asked, holding up a medium in the blue dress. Yeah, that looked like it'd fit.

"I don't know," she said, checking the price tag on a long, floral-print dress. "He said he wanted to get me something really meaningful this year."

Michael tensed up, falling silent for a moment. _Meaningful?_ Did that mean . . . was he referring to . . .? Oh god, he hoped not.

Even though he was scared of what her answer would be, he asked the anxious question anyway. "Do you think he's gonna propose?"

She whirled around, looking . . . almost alarmed, as if she hadn't even considered that option. "No."

He shrugged doubtfully. "That'd be meaningful."

"He's not gonna . . ." She trailed off, laughing nervously. "No."

"You sure?"

That look in her eyes was _not_ sure. Not sure at all.

 _Great,_ he thought. It was a possibility then. He meandered towards her, bravely asking another question, one he dreaded the answer to even more. "If he did, would you say yes?"

She huffed as if she were outraged or incredulous. And it took her a few seconds to say anything. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

"Yeah." Funny how she didn't answer.

"He's not gonna propose."

Still not an answer. "But if he did, what would you say?"

She snorted again, looking completely flabbergasted by all of this. "That's none of your business."

"Just answer the question."

"No, I don't have to."

"So you wouldn't then?" he concluded hopefully.

"What?"

"You wouldn't say yes?"

"No, I would . . ." Again she trailed off, seeming as if she were at a complete loss for words. Or at least the one word that mattered. "This is stupid," she muttered angrily. "He's not gonna ask me."

"He might. I did."

"Yeah, and look how well that worked out for us." She turned her back to him and pretended to be all interested in looking at that long floral dress again.

"I just think it's interesting that you said yes to me in an instant, but you don't know what the hell you'd say to him."

She spun back around, and she had that lively, ignited look in her eyes now. "I know what I'd say," she claimed.

"Oh, really? 'cause you haven't said it yet." And he loved that. He really, truly did.

"God, why do you have to do this?" she yelled, throwing her arms down at her sides. Both their voices were rising now, and other customers in the store were starting to look over at them. "We are _finally_ at a point in our relationship where we're friends, and then you go and say stuff like this. You have _no_ right to be so nosy!"

"I just asked a question," he said innocently, "a simple question, by the way."

"It's not that simple," she argued.

"It should be." If she loved the guy and saw a future with him, then it should have been simple to think about him proposing and imagine herself accepting.

"Fine, you know what?" she growled, apparently fed up with all of this. "I _would_ say yes. I would marry him, because I love him. In fact, he was my first love. Let's not forget about that."

He didn't have a snappy comeback for that one. Because honestly . . . that hurt. He hated that Max had been her first for so many things. Because when it came to first loves . . . his was standing right in front of him.

"God!" she hissed again, stomping out of the store. She didn't look back, and he didn't even try to follow her. No, he'd pushed the issue too hard, made too big of a deal out of it, and now she was mad at him. Fantastic.

He halfheartedly went over to Victoria's Secret after their fight, but he just wasn't into it anymore. He made a detour for Game Stop, picked up two video games, one for himself and one for Kyle, and then he sulked back out to the food court. He got himself a root beer, and he planned on ordering food, too, until he saw Maria sitting alone at one of the tables. She had a whole bowl full of pasta in front of her, but she was just pushing the noodles around with her plastic fork, not eating anything.

Drink in hand, he made his way towards her, bracing himself for the possibility of her just getting up and walking away when he sat down. But she didn't. He stood over her, casting a shadow, and she just sat there, eyes fixed on her uneaten food, never looking up at him.

Any apology would have been a weak one, because he wasn't really sorry. Maybe he hadn't gone about it in the most tactful way, but he didn't regret questioning the strength of her feelings for Max. At all. He'd do it again a thousand times if that was what it took for her to leave the guy.

He sat down in the chair across from her, feeling a bit defeated. Because apparently she _wasn't_ planning on leaving the guy anytime soon. Would she really say yes to him if he proposed? He wasn't quite sure whether he believed her answer or not, but he knew he sure as hell didn't want to.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and eventually he slid his root beer across the table to her. She eyed it curiously, then finally looked at him. "What is that?" she asked.

"Root beer."

Under normal circumstances, she probably would have smiled. But she was still too pissed to do that. Oh, well, though. He knew that one drink was enough for her to get her thinking back to how many times he'd come into the Crashdown Café while she'd been waitressing, and how many root beers she'd given him despite his initial attempt to get an actual beer.

It was just one of their little things.

It took her a bit, but finally, she moved the drink closer to her side of the table, brought the straw up to her lips, and took a sip.

...

Dylan must have had a busy, active day at school, because he fell asleep quickly that night, far more quickly than he usually did, and earlier, too. Maria was happy about that, though, because she was tired, too, and she didn't intend to stay up very late.

She left her son's room and heard Max mulling about in the bathroom. She opened the door and peaked in, finding him standing in front of the mirror, shaving, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp.

"Hey," she said, unable to stifle a yawn.

"Tired?" he noted.

"Yeah. I went Christmas shopping today. That kinda wears me out." At this point, she was done with the mall. Nothing good ever seemed to happen there. She'd do the rest of her shopping online.

"It is tiring," he agreed, dragging his razor across his jawline, removing the stubble that had formed these past couple days.

"Christmas is getting close, though," she said, leaning against the doorframe, trying to gradually and subtly segue into more serious territory.

"Yep," he agreed, rinsing his razor off. He shook it to dry it, then returned it to its holder in the shower.

"I'm really curious about what you're getting me," she said, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Well, she hadn't been curious until today, but now, it was all she could think about. _Thanks a lot, Michael._ "Any hints?"

Max smirked. "Nope."

"Not even one."

He took a look at his reflection in the mirror, running his hands over the areas of skin he'd just shaved. Apparently satisfied, he said, "It's something I should've given you a long time ago. That's all I'll say," then kissed her cheek, and slipped past her and headed toward the bedroom.

She inhaled sharply, allowing her mind to go there and assume that Michael had been right all along today. What if he really did propose? Marriage was a really big deal, and sure, they had a child together and had been dating again for a year now, but . . .

It was just a really, _really_ big deal.


	37. Chapter 37

Since she was still somewhat enraged at Michael for being so _aggressively_ inquisitive yesterday, Maria actually contemplated sitting somewhere other than her usual seat in class the next day. Or maybe just skipping altogether. But with the final exam drawing near, that didn't seem like a good idea. And her feet just automatically took her to her normal seat.

He came in a few minutes after she'd sat down. She saw him coming out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't even look up at him. When he was behind her, he put both his hands over her eyes, covering them, and instead of asking, "Guess who?" he asked, "You still pissed at me?"

"Maybe," she grumbled, although she was a bit less pissed now that she realized he might have been onto something. She wasn't going to give him _any_ information about what Max had said last night, though. He didn't need to know.

He flung his backpack over the seats and onto the floor, and then he flung himself over, flopping down in the chair beside her. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

She shook her head, knowing better than to believe that. "No, you're not."

"I am," he insisted. "I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have said anything."

She rolled her eyes. This sounded . . . rehearsed. She knew Michael well enough to know that he wasn't _really_ sorry for putting her on blast like that. The guy had no filter. Maybe he'd gotten better at keeping himself in check over the years, but there were definitely times when old school Michael came out. And yesterday had been one of those times.

"It's just . . . I care about you, obviously," he went on, not sounding rehearsed anymore. "And I just wanna make sure you're happy."

"I _am_ happy," she told him, shooting him a quick glare. What had she or Max or anyone done to give him the impression that she wasn't? "I know it's hard for you to accept that, because you don't accept Max," she said, "but . . . I can't keep constantly defending him to you. It's exhausting." Max was being so unbelievably accepting about Michael being back in her life, and Michael wasn't reciprocating any of it. It frustrated the hell out of her, because she wanted him to get over his hostility so badly. "If he were to propose to me and I were to say yes . . . then that's my prerogative." It was as simple as that.

"I know," he mumbled. "I just worry about you."

She didn't understand. "Why?" Her life was actually functional now. She was in a stable relationship, she was a college student, and she was raising a healthy, well-adjusted Circle of Friends type son. What was there to worry about?

"I just don't want you to settle," he said quietly. "I feel like you deserve so much . . ."

She tensed when she saw him reaching over to her, like maybe he was about to touch her leg or squeeze her hand or something. She didn't have to tell him not to do that, though, because he withdrew quickly and leaned forward to unzip his backpack instead. "Just forget I ever said anything," he muttered, searching around for something inside. "I'm an idiot."

She breathed a silent sigh of relief, forcing her body to relax again. _You're not an idiot,_ she thought, but even so . . . she _would_ try to forget.

...

Now that football season was over, Max was ready to switch gears. More than ready, actually. Football had never been his sport, and even though he'd enjoyed watching Dylan play, he was way more pumped up for basketball. Hopefully the kid inherited his jump shot.

It didn't look good, though. Max pulled his son outside to the driveway after dinner to show him the basketball hoop he'd assembled for him. It was standard size, not the little kid size, because Max wanted him to be able to practice on the real thing. And he was going to need some practice, because whenever he shot the ball, he did this weird little spread eagle type of jump, and he hadn't made a shot yet.

Around the tenth or so shot, it finally got to the point where it bounced off the rim at least. "Oh, good shot!" Max congratulated him. "That was really close."

Dylan frowned as the ball rolled back to him. "I'm bad," he lamented, struggling just to dribble it.

"You're not bad; you're just learning," Max assured him. "I missed a lot of shots when I was your age." He held out his hands, and Dylan passed him the ball. Then he took a shot and swished it, but Dylan didn't look as impressed or inspired as he'd hoped. "Go ahead, try again," he said, bounce-passing the ball back to his son.

Dylan dribbled it a few times, then took a few seconds to line up his shot. He bent his knees, positioned his arms, and released the ball into the air. It went wide right.

"Yeah, that was alright," Max said, already doing the mental calculations of how long they would need to practice each day for Dylan to make the A team. No way was his son playing on B team. No way. "You excited to play basketball this year?" he asked.

Dylan shrugged. "Not really."

"No?" That was only because it was new. He was overwhelmed right now, but he'd get the hang of it. "I'm gonna be your coach, you know. It'll be fun." He'd been happy to volunteer himself for this job, especially since . . . well, especially since Michael had already gotten his turn.

"I like football," Dylan declared.

 _Don't take it personally,_ Max reminded himself. Football was Dylan's first sport, and every little boy loved it at some point. "Well, it's too cold to play football right now," he pointed out. In fact, it was probably too cold for them to be outside shooting hoops, but as long as they had their jackets on, they'd be okay. "It's time to try a new sport."

Dylan made a face of disdain.

"Basketball's really cool," Max insisted. "You'll like it, trust me." Once he knew all the rules of the game and felt more confident about what he was doing, he'd love this sport just as much as the last one. Maybe even more.

Even though Max really wanted his son to practice a few more throws before heading inside, that didn't seem like it would be a possibility when he saw Isabel's car coming down the road, slowing down as she approached their house. He really didn't want Dylan to have to interact with her, and besides, he could tell the kid was wanting to call it a night. So he said, "Hey, why don't you head back inside and get ready for bed. I'll come tuck you in in a minute."

Dylan looked relieved to be able to go back inside, and he scampered across the front yard and in the door.

Max sighed, picking up the basketball, spinning it for a few seconds on his left index finger. _He'll get there,_ he reminded himself. Back when his own father had first encouraged him to pick up a basketball, he'd been reluctant, too.

Isabel got out of the car, wearing what was probably a faux-fur coat over a blue dress that was way too short for her. Or maybe it was supposed to be a shirt. Whatever it was looked inappropriate, and he was glad he'd sent Dylan inside.

"You just don't want me to have anything to do with him, huh?" she remarked as if reading his mind.

"It's not that," he lied to spare her feelings. "It's just his bedtime."

"Whatever." She joined him in the driveway, snatching the basketball away from him. She tried to shoot it, but it dropped well short of the hoop.

"What're you doin' here?" he asked, letting the ball roll into the bushes.

"Just wanted to talk," she replied. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

"It was good."

She nodded, waiting a beat before asking, "Did you go to Mom's?"

Well, there was no point in lying about that, especially since she seemed to already know. "Yeah."

She tried to just act casual, like it didn't bother her that she hadn't been invited, but when she inquired, "Did she ask about me?" her voice shook, and he could tell she was upset.

He tried to remember if he'd overheard his mom say anything, maybe even just something in passing. But Isabel's name hadn't crossed her lips, at least not when he'd been around.

His silence must have said it all, because she started to get a little teary-eyed. "That's like my biggest regret, you know?" she said sadly. "Getting kicked out of Princeton I can handle, but getting kicked out of my own mother's life? That's a hard pill to swallow."

He winced, thinking that maybe _hard pill to swallow_ wasn't the best expression for her to be using, given she'd recently been hospitalized for doing just that.

"Why don't you come over here on Christmas Day?" he suggested hesitantly. He wasn't quite sure what having her around would do to the whole mood of their celebration, but it maybe it would cheer her up. Help her out a little. _Something._

"Is Mom gonna be here?" she asked hopefully.

He nodded. "Yeah."

She smiled, excited but clearly trying to contain it. She held so many of her real feelings in nowadays, but being her brother, he knew he sometimes got a glimpse of them.

"Okay," she said. "I'd like that. Thanks, Max."

He nodded nervously, hoping that having her around wouldn't blow up in his face. He wasn't looking to be Isabel's sponsor on the road to recovery, because his own recovery was an ongoing process. But maybe if he just gave her a foothold, somewhere to stand up and get started . . . then maybe she could do it on her own.

...

Watching Leanna pack up her things was hard on Alex, though it wasn't completely unexpected. In some respect, he'd known this day was coming for a long, long time. They'd just been putting off the inevitable.

He'd already filed for divorce and found his lawyer, and since she wasn't contesting it, it seemed that it would be a fairly standard procedure. And it would be quick. A couple months, tops, and then he was a single man again. Not that there would be girls lining up outside his door looking to date him or anything.

Leanna had Sean, though, of that much he was sure. Because Sean was waiting outside in his beat-up pickup truck, ready to help carry and load boxes once she was ready. What they had probably wasn't going to end up being a storybook romance or one of the great love stories of all time, but for now, it was a bona fide relationship.

She didn't say much as she took all her clothes out of the closet, and that was fine with him. What was there to say? It was over. It was just . . . over.

Still, though . . . even though he knew it was for the best, and even though having this apartment to himself was actually going to be somewhat of a relief, he felt bad for not being able to make it work. Nobody entered into a marriage with the hopes of becoming divorced someday. There was this feeling of failure that accompanied it, and he wasn't used to failing.

"I think that's just about everything," she said, struggling to zip up the first of two gigantic suitcases. "I guess if I forgot anything, I can come back and get it next week."

He nodded wordlessly. For now, she still had her key, so that'd be fine. But once she was completely moved out, then he was taking that back from her.

"Well . . ." She sighed and flapped her arms against her sides helplessly. "I don't know what to say."

 _Sorry would be a great start,_ he thought. She hadn't even apologized. She'd _cheated_ on him, had a legitimate _affair_ with another guy, and she didn't even seem sorry.

"I didn't think it was gonna end up like this," she admitted. "We used to be so good together."

He grunted, thinking back on the start of their relationship. Had they ever really been a match? He was starting to wonder if he'd just been deluding himself the entire time. He and Leanna had never had much in common, and their relationship had progressed too fast. And honestly, the main thing that had attracted him to her in the first place was that she had long blonde hair like Isabel.

"This is gonna be okay, though," she insisted. "We're better off. Something just wasn't working."

Well, she was right about that much. These past few months had been awful, and that was probably part of the reason why he wasn't more devastated about all of this.

"And look at it this way . . ." She actually smiled at him, and for a second, it almost seemed like she still cared about him. "Now you're free to be with your dream girl."

He tensed.

Quickly, she added, "Whoever that may be."

Alex stood there like a statue while she propped her suitcase up on its end, pulled out the handle, and rolled it out of the bedroom and into the hall. Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he tried not to be affected by what she said. Because if he allowed himself to believe that there really was a girl who was the girl of his dreams, then he was admitting that he had never been fully invested in this marriage to begin with. And he didn't want to have to do that.

...

 _Tomato paste or tomato sauce,_ Maria debated as she surveyed the overwhelming display of cans on the shelves in front of her. _Good God._ Why were there so many damn options to choose from? All she wanted was something to use in a simple chili recipe, and she didn't know what to pick. What was the difference between paste and sauce anyway? Did paste taste . . . pastey?

She felt like such an idiot, so she decided to abandon the stupid chili idea altogether and pushed her cart down the aisle. Straight ahead of her was a section of the grocery store she was much, _much_ more familiar with: frozen dinners.

"Maria?"

She spun her whole cart around, and there was Sarah, pushing a full, heaping cart of her own. No frozen dinners in there, that was for sure.

"Hey," Maria said, quickly reaching for both a can of tomato sauce and paste. She set them down in her cart, then put in a few other random cans, too.

"Cooking for a small army?" Sarah asked as she walked closer.

"Well, just Dylan and Max, but they eat like a small army."

Sarah laughed. "I'll bet."

Even though it was stupid to do so, Maria couldn't help but survey the contents of the other girl's cart. There was a lot of meat, and a lot of pasta, and all sorts of different spices and seasonings. She didn't even have a list in her hand, so that probably meant she could just peruse the aisles and pick out what she wanted on the spot.

"You know what?" Sarah went on—because it wasn't just grocery shopping that was easy and natural for her; it was conversing, too. "I wonder how many times we might've passed by each other in this store or on campus or just anywhere in this town before we knew each other."

"Probably quite a few," Maria said. She just smiled then, because she didn't know what else to say.

"So, got big plans for the weekend?" Sarah asked.

"Um . . . no, not really," Maria replied. "Dylan's spending the night at his friend's house again, so . . ."

"Ooh." Sarah grinned. "You and Max get a night alone then."

"Yeah." There was really no reason to _ooh_ about it, though. The plans they'd made were pretty mundane. "I think we're just gonna relax and watch a movie or something."

"Oh my god!" Sarah exclaimed suddenly. "You guys should totally go out with us tonight."

"Us?" Maria echoed. As in her and Michael? Another double date scenario? Hadn't they done enough of those?

"Michael and I are going out with Tess and Kyle," Sarah elaborated.

Oh, so it was already a double date then. Maria couldn't contain her surprised response to that. " _Kyle's_ going out?" Wasn't he, like, a major homebody nowadays?

"Actually, the whole night was his idea," Sarah told her. "He's trying to reconnect with Tess, so he wants to take her out on a date. But he's kinda nervous about it, so that's why Michael and I are going with him. Reinforcements."

"Oh." Maria just nodded, trying to envision how she and Max would fit into that scenario. Was there even such a thing as a triple date? "Well, it sounds like you guys will have a good time then."

"You should come with us," Sarah reiterated. "Honestly, the more the merrier. If it's a group thing, Kyle will feel _way_ more at ease."

Maria sighed reluctantly, trying to come up with a way to decline the offer without sounding bitchy. "I don't know . . ."

"It's not gonna be real wild or anything," Sarah assured her. "Have you ever been to that bar downtown called The Cave?"

"No." She'd driven by it, but that was all.

"Well, they remodeled it this summer and added on this, like, nightclub part to it. They're really trying to appeal to college students. In fact, they're letting students in free tonight. All you have to do is show your student I.D."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah." Sarah smiled. "You really should come. It's gonna be fun. But if you can't, I understand."

"Well, I'll just—I'll have to ask Max what he feels like doing," Maria stammered unsurely. Truth be told, a night out _did_ sound more exciting than a night in. She and Max were both still young. Why should they be cooped up all night? Maybe they needed to be more lively, like Michael and Sarah were. And _maybe_ if Michael saw them out together, enjoying the night and having a good time, he'd start to see that they actually _were_ a good couple who had a future together.

"We're gonna get there around 8:00-ish," Sarah told her, "so maybe I'll see you there?"

"Maybe." As weird as it would be to be out with her ex and his girlfriend _yet again_ , at this point, she was kind of getting used to it.

"If not, enjoy the rest of your weekend, alright?"

"Thanks." Maria gave Sarah a small wave goodbye as she pushed her cart on past. When Sarah rounded the turn into the next aisle, Maria reached into her own cart, took out the tomato paste and sauce, and put them back on the shelf. She then took out her phone and dialed Max's number.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Hey," she said, smiling when she heard Dylan's jovial laugh in the background. "Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Sure," he said. "Dylan's just watching TV. I can talk."

"Okay," she said, moving her cart back and forth a bit. She wasn't sure how she was going to even suggest this to Max. He wasn't the type of guy who went out to bars or clubs anymore. In fact, he tended to keep his distance. "So I was thinking," she said as casually as she could, "maybe we should go out tonight."

"Out?" he echoed. "Like to eat?"

"More like . . . just to have fun." She cringed, regretting the way that had come out. It wasn't that staying home and watching a movie with him _wasn't_ fun. That was super chill and relaxing, and sometimes it was exactly what she needed. But it was nice to switch things up once in a while, too.

"Where do you wanna go?" he asked.

"Well, I ran into Sarah just a minute ago, and she was telling me about this bar downtown called The Cave."

"The Cave?" he echoed.

"Yeah, imagine that, right?" Freakin' Carlsbad. Everything came down to its caverns, just like everything in Roswell had to be tied back to aliens.

"You wanna go to a bar?" he asked skeptically.

"Well, it's not just a bar. It's like a nightclub now, too, apparently. She said a whole bunch of people are going. Like Tess and Kyle and . . ." She trailed off.

"Michael?" he filled in.

"Yeah, probably," she said flippantly. "Anyway, I don't know, I was just thinking that maybe it could be fun."

He was silent for a few seconds, and all she could hear was the sound of the TV in the background. But when he did speak, he actually agreed to it. "Okay."

"Yeah?" That was easier than she'd thought it would be.

"Yeah, we'll go," he said. "See you when you get home."

"Okay, see you." She ended the call and dropped her phone back into her purse, feeling the slightest bit excited about tonight now. It wasn't very often that she actually got to go out and act her age.

...

While Alex was engaged in a particularly rousing game of peek-a-boo with Scarlet on the floor, there was a knock at the door. Liz got up off the couch and went to answer it, hoping it wasn't Sean or Leanna or anyone else she might feel compelled to chew out. Luckily, it was just Maria. "Hey," she said, happy to see her friend there.

"Hey," Maria returned, stepping inside. She looked at Alex and Scarlet and quietly remarked, "How cozy."

"Oh, stop," Liz said. It was all so platonic on so many levels.

"Hey, Maria," Alex greeted.

"Hey, Alex."

"How you been?"

"Good. You?"

Alex smiled tightly and said, "I've been better," then refocused his attention on Scarlet as she tried to grab at his nose.

Maria cringed, whispering, "Oops."

"It's fine," Liz assured her. "What's up?"

"Nothing much." Maria just stood there for a few seconds, and Liz kept expecting her to say something. Clearly there had to be _some_ reason for dropping by. Finally, she spilled. "Okay, I was kinda hoping I could get you to come out with me tonight."

"Like a girl's night?" Liz asked hopefully.

"Not really. Max and I are gonna go out and meet up with . . . you know, everyone."

"Everyone," Liz echoed. "As in . . ."

"Sarah and Michael and Tess and Kyle."

"Huh." They were really starting to become a group, weren't they? She was aware that she was very much on the fringe of it, but she and Sarah got along great, and she liked the thought of being able to be there for Max just in case . . . just in case. But it was still a little too short notice. "I don't think I can," she said. "I mean, who would I find to watch Scarlet?"

"Me," Alex piped up quickly. "I am her godfather, after all."

"Yeah, but you're . . ." She trailed off, not wanting to sound mean. Alex was going through something, though, something major. He probably needed a night off of everything to just think.

"I'm happy to watch her," he insisted. "Seriously. Go. We'll be fine."

 _Well . . ._ she thought, her resistance crumbling. She liked being able to go out on weekends and have a good time. Besides, there was always the potential of meeting someone. "Okay," she said to Maria. "Looks like I'll have to find something to wear."

...

The line to get into The Cave was long that night, longer than Maria had anticipated it would be. And by the time she and Max finally got to the front of it, she couldn't find her student I.D., so everyone behind them started to get annoyed and impatient with her, and eventually she just gave up trying to find it and paid to get inside instead.

They entered on the nightclub side, and it definitely looked busy, but at least people weren't crammed in their like sardines. The other half was more of a bar and restaurant, and there were plenty of people mingling in there. There was a bar in this half, too, though, which was great, because Maria definitely felt like she was going to need a drink. Waiting in that line had aggravated the hell out of her.

"You guys made it!" Like a little Labrador retriever puppy, Sarah bounded off the dance floor towards them, pulling Michael behind her. "Hey!" she exclaimed, giving Maria a hug.

"Hey," Maria said. She searched around frantically for Liz. Where was she? Just like Sarah and Michael were Kyle's reinforcements, Liz was hers.

"Did you have to wait a long time?" Sarah asked.

" _Forever_ ," Maria emphasized. "Did you?"

"No. The bouncer has a crush on Michael, so we got in quick."

Maria cast a curious glance at Michael, and he just shrugged.

"You guys look . . . you look great," Maria told them, and she meant it. Sarah had on this beautiful beige sweater dress, long-sleeved, cinched around her waist with a gold belt. Even though she was short, it was high-cut enough to make her legs look long, but not so high-cut that it looked vulgar. And Michael . . . well, he was just wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, but it was a tighter t-shirt than he normally wore, so it looked . . . really good.

"Thanks," Sarah said. "I love your outfit, too."

"Oh, thanks." She was suddenly feeling very self-conscious about it. She'd worn dark blue jeans—the only pair of jeans she had that _didn't_ look like they'd come from a thrift store—and a loose-fitting black tunic top that had the word _Love_ scrawled across it in metallic gold lettering. It had seemed cute enough in the mirror, but being here now and comparing it to Sarah's, she just felt like she looked like a high school girl. Sarah actually looked like a grown woman.

 _Why am I always comparing myself to her?_ she wondered, highly doubting that Sarah did the same thing.

An awkward silence descended upon the four of them until the song changed and Sarah said, "Well, I think we're gonna go dance some more. But that's our table over there where Tess and Kyle are sitting, so feel free to join."

"Okay."

Sarah grabbed Michael's hand again, and he pretended to be all reluctant and groaned as she pulled him back out onto the dance floor, but it was obvious he didn't _really_ need to be persuaded.

"I think I'm gonna get something to drink," Max announced.

"Really?" A trace of alarm shot through her, and she wasn't sure why. Max had never had an alcohol problem, but he'd made it a point to stay away from anything and everything that had addictive properties.

"Just club soda," he said. "You want anything?"

"Oh . . . I could probably use a beer."

"Alright, I'll go get you one." He gave her a kiss on the cheek, then slipped off into the crowd.

Maria sighed, standing by herself now. She checked her phone to see if Liz had called or texted, but nope, nothing. Maybe she wasn't coming tonight after all. Maybe Scarlet had gotten sick or something, or maybe Alex's plan to babysit had fallen through. Maria wasn't sure where her friend was, but she was absolutely positive she'd feel more at ease with her there.

Since she didn't really know anyone else, she had no choice but to go to the table where Tess and Kyle were sitting. Right as she was approaching, though, Tess saw her, rolled her eyes, and got up and walked away.

Maria stopped in her tracks. _What the hell am I doing here?_

Kyle looked over his shoulder at her, got up, and said, "Hey, Maria." But that was all he said before he slowly hobbled after Tess. No cane or crutches or anything tonight, though. He was making progress.

 _This was a mistake,_ Maria thought, feeling very out of place as she took a seat in the booth Kyle and Tess had just abandoned. What on earth had ever made her think that coming here was a good idea, that the night would be anything more than awkward? There was a reason she spent so many weekends at home: It was just easier.

She looked down at her outfit again, pissed at herself for not at least wearing a cute dress. So what if it was practically winter? Tess was defying the weather. She had on this wispy pink and white floral print gown that was longer than the back than it was in the front. She looked like a model in a magazine, and of course wasn't even showing yet, not in the slightest.

Looking out onto the dance floor, she couldn't see much of Michael, except for his spiky hair as his head bobbed slightly out of time with the music. But she saw Sarah's hair and arms flying all about him. Every once in a while she'd come close enough to the edge of the floor, and Maria could see her better. She looked so comfortable with her body, and so at ease out there, like she wasn't worried about anything in the world. And Maria felt envious, because she couldn't even remember the last time she'd felt that way.

"I'm here, I'm here."

Breathing a sigh of relief when Liz came to the table and sat down, Maria tore her eyes away from the dance floor. "Thank God," she said dramatically.

"Wow, this place looks different," Liz said, looking around.

"You've been here?"

"Yeah, back when I was dating Sean." She made a face.

"It _has_ been a while then."

"Yep." She reached into her purse, took out a tube of lipstick, and reapplied a little to her lips. "How do I look?" she asked.

"Great," Maria told her. "See, you were smart. You wore a dress."

"Actually, it's a skirt," Liz said.

"Well, whatever it is, it's cute." It was a pink floral pattern like Tess's dress was, but the background was black, and she'd paired it with a long-sleeved black top that, upon closer inspection, actually showed a little bit of her upper midriff.

"You look cute, too," Liz complimented.

Maria shook her head. "I don't think so." She didn't look _bad._ But Sarah looked better.

"Oh, no," Liz said. "Are you down in the dumps? I hate when you get like this."

"I can't help it. I'm having prom flashbacks here."

"Prom?" Liz echoed.

"Yeah. I thought that was gonna be a great night, too, but it turned out to be horrible." Fucking Ryan What's-His-Name had been such an ass to her that night, and she'd ended up going home and puking her guts out and panicking that she might be pregnant.

"Tonight is not gonna be horrible," Liz said, maintaining a positive outlook. "Hey, at least you're here with your boyfriend. I'm totally third-wheeling it." She looked around and asked, "Where is Max anyway?"

Maria motioned behind herself to the bar. "Tess and Kyle are around here somewhere, too."

"No Isabel, right?"

"God, I hope not."

Liz laughed. "Are Michael and Sarah here?"

"Yep." She cast a sideways glance out at the dance floor again, getting a better view of them now. Michael wasn't doing much more than just standing there, but Sarah was like the star attraction out there. A lot of people were watching her, but she was only watching him.

"God," Maria groaned. "Of course she's an amazing dancer, too."

Liz gave her a serious look. "Are you jealous?" she asked.

"No."

Liz narrowed her eyes skeptically.

"No," Maria insisted, "it's just that . . . she's so good at everything." Her grades, her cooking, her dancing . . . she was a jack of all trades, this girl. "I mean, I've seriously never met anyone who's _literally_ good at every single thing she does. Until Sarah."

"So you're jealous," Liz confirmed.

"No, I just . . ." She trailed off, regretting how _horrendously_ jealous she sounded. "I used to think Isabel—like pre-pornography Isabel—was the smartest, prettiest girl out there, but apparently not." She was astounded that Michael kept getting girls like this. Clearly he was a great-looking guy himself and smarter than anyone had ever given him credit for, but . . . holy shit, his girlfriend was, like, perfect.

"I like Sarah," Liz declared. "But there's no way I'm gonna compare myself to her, 'cause I know I'd come up short."

"No, you've got a lot going for you, Liz," Maria assured her.

"Everything except the one thing that matters." Liz's eyes glazed over for a moment, and she sounded sad when she murmured, "Love."

"Hmm, I wouldn't be too sure about that."

Liz furrowed her brow curiously. "What do you mean?"

Maria shrugged exaggeratedly. "I don't know. It just seems like now that Leanna's out of the picture . . ."

"Oh god, no," Liz cut her off quickly. "No, Maria, that's not happening."

"Why not?" It seemed so obvious. She knew Liz was tired of playing the dating scene and really wanted to settle down, and who better to settle down with than her daughter's godfather?

"Alex is my best friend," Liz said. "No offense."

"None taken. I just always assumed that if the opportunity ever presented itself and you were single and he was single at the same time . . ."

Liz shook her head adamantly. " _No_."

"But you guys dated before."

"And broke up before. Our chemistry is _so_ much better as friends."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Maria sighed, figuring she'd have to work a little harder to steer her friend in that direction. She'd save it for another night. Maybe once Alex and Leanna actually got divorced, Liz would open up her eyes to the possibility. So what if they were just friends right now? So what if they'd already tried a relationship and broken up? That didn't necessarily mean it was the end for them. Maybe it was just the beginning.

...

Kyle stood outside the women's restroom, waiting impatiently. Tess had been in there for about ten minutes now, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe she didn't feel well. Or maybe she was just pissed. She'd been in a bad mood the entire night so far.

He knocked on the door and called her name. "Tess?"

He heard the sink run for a few seconds, and then she came out, sliding past him. "Sorry," she muttered.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just . . . hormonal right now, and it doesn't take much to set me off," she growled. "And when I saw that Maria was here . . . well, that didn't particularly thrill me. And then I thought, ' _Hey, I'll just go get something to drink._ ' Except I can't drink, because I'm pregnant. I'm at a nightclub, and I'm pregnant. Great idea, Kyle."

He took her snippiness in stride and didn't bother pointing out that she wouldn't be able to drink even if she _wasn't_ pregnant, because she was only twenty years old.

"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly. "I don't mean to be a bitch. I know you wanted to have fun tonight."

"So let's dance," he suggested. Michael and Sarah were all over that dance floor. Why couldn't he and Tess join them?

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"Oh, come on, you love to dance," he reminded her. God, he used to love watching her perform in her little cheerleading uniform, from and center of the formation, big smile on her face.

"But you can't dance," she protested.

"I got some rhythm," he insisted. "I can hold my own."

"No, I mean . . ." She looked down at his legs and repeated, "You _can't_ dance."

 _That_ . . . was like a punch to the gut. But hell, he was here and he was walking around, wasn't he? It was a start. "I can try," he said.

She blinked back tears and shook her head. "I think I just wanna go home," she said.

"Tess . . ." No. He was _really_ trying.

She wouldn't listen to him, though. Wiping away tears as they fell, she turned and walked away from him, headed back to their table, and from there, probably straight to the exit.

 _Damn,_ he thought, exhaling heavily, feeling defeated. _So much for reconnecting._

...

Michael was starting to sweat. All this dancing, as fun as it was, was exhausting. And he wasn't even doing a whole lot. There was no stopping his girlfriend, though. It was like every inch of her body just resonated with the beat and moved in time with it.

"This is so fun!" she exclaimed as the song changed. "We should come here more often."

"Yeah," he agreed. Hell, he had _no_ problem with that idea. The more often he was able to watch his girl dance, the better.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick," she said, standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Keep dancing."

"Oh, I will," he said, halfheartedly swaying from side to side as she slinked off the floor. But once she was gone, he stopped, because it wasn't much fun without her. He caught sight of Kyle slinking towards the exit and figured that wasn't a good sign. Maybe he and Sarah were the only ones having fun tonight.

He scanned the club for Maria then, but he saw Max first. Max . . . and Liz. Sitting in a booth together, talking. He said something that made her laugh, which Michael personally didn't understand, because the bastard wasn't even funny.

If they were there . . . then where was Maria?

His eyes swung towards the bar, and there she was, sitting on a stool by herself, her back towards him. He watched her bring a small shot glass of something up to her mouth, and he couldn't resist going over to talk to her.

He got the bartender's attention right away and requested, "Beer," as he leaned against the counter. He glanced down at Maria, but she seemed determined not to look up at him. She sort of had that same expression on her face that Kyle had been showcasing all night: the disappointed kind.

"You look nice," he told her as the bartender handed him his bottle. He was digging the tight jeans on her.

It took her a minute, but finally, she cast a quick sideways glance at him and said, "Thanks."

He took a drink and peered through the darkened room to locate Liz and Max again. Neither one of them seemed to notice that he was talking to Maria, so he continued. "What're you drinkin'?"

"Nothing," she replied flippantly, yelping, "Hey!" when he reached over and grabbed the glass from her.

He took a sip, recognizing the taste immediately. "Vodka?" he said, thoroughly impressed. "Wow, check you out. Knockin' 'em back."

"This is my first one," she said.

"Hey, I don't blame you. If I was here with Max, I'd dive into the hard liquor, too."

She shot him an irritated look and rolled her eyes. "You're so annoying."

He smirked and debated whether or not to back off or just rub a little salt in the wound. Honestly, even though he didn't want to piss her off, any chance to make Max look bad in her eyes was a chance he had to take. "So are you okay with that?" he asked, motioning towards Max and Liz. "Sharing your boyfriend with another girl?"

She looked to her right, watched them for a few seconds, then snapped her head back towards him and snarled, "I don't _share_ him."

"Looks like you do." He shrugged and took another drink.

"Liz is my best friend," she said. "And she and Max are friends, too."

"Yeah, I see that."

"They'll always have a connection."

"Yeah, named Scarlet."

"I'm fine with them being close," she said, knowing that neither one of them would ever do anything to hurt her. "In fact, I'm glad they are. Scarlet deserves to have both her parents in her life. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"You might just wanna monitor how close they are," he suggested. Hell, he didn't know if there was anything going on there or not. All he knew was that Liz used to smile like that when he was flirting with her, way back in the day.

"Would you stop?" she snapped. "Stop trying to instigate trouble. It's not gonna work."

"Whatever," he mumbled. "Well, if you don't wanna get drunk, you should get somethin' to eat. Or go dance or something."

She shook her head. "Max doesn't know how to dance."

Big fucking surprise. "Neither do I," he pointed out. "That's why I just do pimp style."

"Pimp style?" she echoed skeptically.

"Yeah. I just stand there and look cool, and Sarah dances all around me. It's genius."

"Well, Sarah's a good dancer," she said, "which I pretty much figured she would be."

He narrowed his eyes, wanting to ask her what she meant by that, but then he saw Sarah emerge from the bathroom and look out onto the dance floor, trying to find him. He downed half of what was left of his beer, setting the bottle down in front of her so she could finish it off if she wanted to. "Eat something," he advised. Whatever she was pissed about, he really didn't want to see her get drunk over it.

"Michael," she said as he started to walk away.

He stopped and turned back to her.

"Do you really think I look nice?" she asked quietly. She seemed hesitant to pose the question but almost desperate to hear his answer to it.

Instinctively, his eyes roamed up and down her, appreciating every inch. Nice didn't even really cover it. He'd always think she was beautiful. "I really do," he replied, grinning at her before slipping away to go dance with Sarah again.

...

 _Don't be an idiot,_ Maria told herself. _God._ She didn't want to react to that, but against her wishes, her heartbeat literally . . . sped up.

She watched Sarah throw herself into Michael's arms out on the dance floor. They kissed exaggeratedly for a second, and then Sarah's hips were moving from side to side again, and Michael's hands were on them, his head bent towards her, eyes focused on her face and nowhere else. When she turned around, he wrapped his arms around her midsection and pulled her in close, his hips pressing against her, but not in a vulgar, grinding sort of way. She tossed her head back against his shoulder, a blissful smile on her face.

Maria spun back around on her stool, trying to focus on the drinks in front of her. But it was almost impossible now.

He thought she looked nice. Max had told her that exact same thing before they'd left the house, and she hadn't believed him. But when Michael said it . . . she believed every word.


	38. Chapter 38

By the time they got home that night, Maria wasn't walking so much as she was dragging. She slumped against Max, barely managing to put one foot in front of the other, and he kept one arm tightly wrapped around her waist just in case her limbs gave out on her.

"You hit it pretty hard tonight," he remarked, feeling bad that he hadn't paid closer attention.

"I know," she groaned as he practically pulled her through the living room. "I'm gonna regret it tomorrow."

"Yeah, you are." He smiled fondly, remember their teenage years together. Every night had been a party, usually a pretty wild one. Sure, it had been reckless as hell, but he wasn't going to deny that he'd enjoyed it.

"I just wanted to be . . . twenty-two," she whimpered. Then she started humming that annoying Taylor Swift song by the same title, mumbling afterward, "I hate that song."

He got her into the bedroom and helped her lie down in the bed. He took her shoes off for her, and she curled up on her side, eyes closed, clutching at the pillow.

"You comfy?" he asked.

"Mmm," she murmured.

"You just wanna sleep in your clothes?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Alright then." He grabbed the blanket off the foot of the bed and covered her up with it, promising her, "I'll be in later." He kissed the side of her head, then turned to leave the room.

"I'm sorry, Max," she squeaked out suddenly.

He stopped and looked back at her. "It's alright," he assured her. So she'd gotten drunk. That was fine. Just because he didn't drink anymore, that didn't mean she couldn't.

"I'm really sorry," she repeated, her voice muffled against the pillow.

He frowned, unable to understand why she was apologizing so much when she hadn't even done anything wrong.

...

Elementary kids sure as hell enjoyed school. It was like they didn't even know that Christmas break was coming—or rather _winter_ break, as the politically correct term was. Or maybe they _did_ know, and the promise of Santa giving them presents if they were good was enough to keep them in line. Whatever their motivation, Michael was impressed.

As the holiday break started to draw closer, he found his own energy level starting to drag. He loved his practicum, but he was ready for a change. Working with Jake next semester would be challenging, but it would keep him on his toes. And maybe next year it _would_ work out for him to coach the football team again, from the start this time rather than just the last two games. He missed his team.

Perhaps it was _because_ he missed them that he found a reason to drop in on basketball practice after school Monday. Many of the same boys who had played football were giving this less entertaining sport a shot, too. He knew Dylan was, because Maria had mentioned it. And she'd also mentioned that Max was coaching them, which was . . . interesting.

He found an inhaler in the hallway he was leaving and noticed that MM was written on a masking tape label. He knew right away that it belonged to Melvin, who, despite his absolute inability to do anything athletic, was playing basketball with Dylan and Luke and the other kids who actually _would_ spend more time out on the court than on the bench. Knowing that Melvin was a spaz and might actually need his inhaler at some point during the practice, Michael took a detour to the gym.

He'd expected it to be loud, because basketball wasn't exactly a quiet sport. There was the bouncing ball and the squeaking sound of the shoes on the floor, and . . . and Max as the coach. For some reason, he'd anticipated walking in there to find Max yelling at the kids the same where their old football coach had. But much to his surprise, and perhaps even to his disappointment, he had their full attention. They were all watching him, trying to mimic his movements as he demonstrated how to shoot a free throw.

"Now it's all about the wrist," Max said as he caught sight of Michael coming towards him. Momentarily, he looked distracted, but then he just continued on. "You don't wanna chuck the ball forward or anything. You want your wrist to be like a spring."

Michael rolled his eyes. _Fucking basketball._ This sport was such a load of crap. Football was brutal and intense, and that was why America loved it.

One of the kids spotted him and exclaimed, "Coach Michael!" and that was all it took to get everyone distracted. They stopped listening to Max and started waving at Michael and saying hi to him instead. He loved that, really.

"Melvin, lose something?" he asked, holding up the kid's inhaler.

"Oh." Melvin's shoulders slumped. "Yeah."

"Yeah." Michael tossed the inhaler to Max and said, "He might need that."

"Thanks," Max said, dribbling the ball with his free hand.

"Are you gonna coach us, too?" Luke asked, sounding hopeful.

If it was wrestling, he might have considered it, but no way could he coach basketball. And no way could he ever or would he ever coach with Max. "Afraid not," he replied, and then, just to piss Max off, he added, "Sorry."

A few of them groaned disappointedly, and he almost burst into laughter right on the spot. This was just _perfect_. Max was going to have some pretty big coaching shoes to fill. _Jackass._

As if he were desperate to regain their attention, Max said, "Alright, we're gonna practice some free throws. You get two shots. Who's up first?"

Michael started to walk away, not surprised that Luke's hand shot into the air and he was the first one to step up to the free throw line. The kid just had that Kyle Valenti natural athleticism. He was going to be good at each and every single sport he tried. He took his first shot, and even though it bounced off the rim, it was close to going in. Max told him what to fix, then encouraged the rest of the guys to cheer him on.

Before he left, Michael made eye contact with Dylan, just to see how he was doing, to see if he looked like he was having fun. And he did, but he wasn't volunteering to go next, or even go at all. He didn't look like he was enjoying this as much as football.

He smiled at Michael and waved, and Michael smiled and waved back at him. If he could have, he would have handed him a football jersey and told him to get back out there on the field where he belonged. And just for the heck of it, he probably would have gone out there and tossed the ball around with him. Just for old times' sake.

...

"So have you recovered?"

At first, Maria pretended not to know what Michael was referring to. "From what?" she asked.

He sat down next to her, grinning. "Saturday."

"Oh, that." She waved it off as if it were nothing. And it really was. "I'm fine. I wasn't drunk or anything."

"Are you sure?" he challenged. "Because Max practically carried you out of there."

She only had fuzzy memories of leaving, so she didn't doubt the truth of that. But still, she wanted to downplay it. "I was a little tipsy," she acknowledged, "but Max said I didn't do anything embarrassing, so that's good."

He raised his eyebrows, giving her a look.

"What?" she asked.

"No, he's right. You didn't _do_ anything."

Her heart started to pound anxiously. What the hell did that mean? "Oh my god, did I say something?" What if she'd been inappropriate? What if she'd said something she wasn't supposed to say?

"At one point you might've . . . told me that I was way better looking than Max," he revealed, "and way better in bed."

Her mouth dropped open. " _What?_ "

He chuckled. "Yeah. And you said you don't wanna marry him."

Mortified, she covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh my god." She had absolutely no memory of that. Had Max overheard? He must not have, because he hadn't said anything.

He kept laughing, unable to contain himself, and that was enough to tip her off that he was lying. "Oh, shut up," she snapped, instantly relieved. "I didn't really say that."

"No," he admitted, "but I know you're thinking it. It's okay."

"You don't know anything. Don't even joke about that."

"You thought I was serious, didn't you?" He smirked. "So that means you actually really do feel that way."

"No, I knew you weren't serious," she lied.

"Oh, did you now?"

"Yes. You're being annoying."

He shrugged unabashedly, apparently much more at ease than she was when it came to joking about this sort of thing.

"I knew you weren't serious," she mumbled again, wishing that were true.

...

Isabel wanted to talk to Alex after class, but she had to wait, because this annoying kid from the front row stuck around, too, asking for advice on the final portfolio of writing that was due next Thursday. Every time Alex suggested something or told him to do something, he overanalyzed it, and the conversation continued on for five more minutes. Isabel stayed at her desk, waiting as patiently as she could for her turn.

Finally, when it was just her and Alex, she got up and walked toward him, sitting down on the front table. He was slumped in his chair, looking as if that conversation with that guy had just exhausted him.

"Don't worry," she said. "I know what I'm doing with my portfolio. I think." She'd tried to get started on it over the weekend, but she'd ended up getting . . . distracted.

"Then why are you still here?" he asked, rubbing his forehead.

"I just wanted to see how you're doing," she said.

"How I'm _doing_?"

"Yeah, you know, with . . . everything." It wasn't necessary to say that bitch Leanna's name, was it?

"I'm fine," he said, but she wasn't convinced.

"Are you guys getting a divorce?"

"That's . . . none of your business."

She frowned. "I was just wondering."

"I'm your teacher, not your friend," he said, reiterating what he always seemed to end up saying to her. "You have to understand that."

"Well, the semester's almost over," she pointed out, "and then you won't be my teacher anymore."

"But that doesn't mean we're gonna be friends."

"Why not?" Was that really so much to ask? Before they'd ever gone out on that one ill-fated date of theirs, they _had_ been friends. They had supported and respected each other the way friends did. Why couldn't they just get back to that?

"Oh, come on, Isabel," he grunted, gathering up his things. "How many conversations did we have before the start of this semester? None. We're not friends."

"But-"

" _Isabel._ " His expression was serious, his tone stern as he slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up. "Don't try to weasel your way back into my life now that Leanna's gone. There's still no room for you."

She lowered her head, falling silent as those words hit her. And they hit hard. She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded unhappily, and tried to push down that all-too familiar feeling of regret. It seemed as if most of her conversations with people ended this way.

When she got home, no one was there. So she dropped her purse at the door, kicked off her shoes, and sulked into the bathroom. When she flipped on the light, it was almost hard to look at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn't straightened her hair this morning, so it was all over the place. Her makeup was smeared, too, because she'd cried a little on the drive home.

She opened the medicine cabinet and found Courtney's pills, the same ones she'd taken last time. There weren't many left, maybe just five or six, but she dumped them out into the palm of her hand and stared at them for a while, debating whether or not to take them. Maybe she didn't have to take all of them. Maybe just a few. Three. Or four.

Her lower lip trembled as she agonized over her decision. She knew that she shouldn't do this, that she _couldn't_ do it every single time somebody said something to upset her. She might not be so lucky this time. But part of her just didn't care.

But then she remembered Max's invitation to spend Christmas Day at his house. Her mom was going to be there. Her mom and her brother, and the nephew she hardly knew . . . her family. Maybe they didn't want her, but she still wanted them.

She put the pills back in the bottle, but even that was still too tempting. So she dumped them into the toilet and flushed them down instead, breathing a sigh of relief once they were gone.

...

"Oh . . ." Infuriated, Michael squeezed his phone so hard, he thought he might crack it. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me"

Beside him, Monk was spinning in his seat, trying to keep a pencil balanced on his chin while their uneventful four-hour shift in the dorms dragged on. "What?"

"Every time I take a look at what my sister's posting on Instagram, I get pissed off. Look." He pulled Monk's chair to a stop and showed him the image on the screen of his phone. First there was the sideways selfie Tina had taken to show off her growing belly. Then a picture she'd snapped while Nicholas was kissing her cheek. "And look at these comments," he ranted, switching to a high-pitched voice to mimic a teenaged girl. "'OMG, ur so cute pregnant!'" He rolled his eyes at the obliviousness of it all. "'BTW, u and Nick r gunna be _gr8888_ parents.'" It made him want to puke just reading it. "No wonder she's delusional about this pregnancy. Everyone her age fuckin' glamorizes it."

"Yeah," Monk agreed, trying to get his pencil balanced on his chin again without spinning now. He stopped suddenly, though, and asked, "Hey, do you ever wonder what would happen if we were transported into an alternate universe where men have the babies?"

"No." But just thinking about it was painful.

"Well, I do," Monk said. "Those things exist, you know."

"What?"

"Alternate universes."

Michael laughed lightly, shaking his head. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Nope, just really smart."

"Well, you go live in your alternate universe; I'll stay in this one." He leaned back, stretching, and checked the time on his phone. Only ten minutes later than when he'd last checked. "God, this sucks ass," he grumbled. "I don't feel like workin' right now."

"Me neither," Monk agreed. "Luckily I won't have to do this much longer."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't I tell you? I got another job."

"Where?"

"Best Buy. I start next week."

Well, that retail giant was certainly the right fit for Monk. The guy was a whiz with computers and electronics of any kind. "Wait, so you're not gonna be working here anymore?"

"No."

Michael slumped, more than a little down in the dumps about that. "Dude, that sucks."

"Not really. I'll get paid more."

"No, for me. It sucks for me." Whenever he did these partner shifts, Monk was usually the guy he worked with. They got along so well and usually even managed to make the job fun. "Who am I gonna work with?"

Monk shrugged. "Brody will hire someone."

"Probably someone boring. Not that you're Mr. Excitement or anything."

"Screw you, man. I'm a bundle of laughs."

Michael laughed again, because the truth was, he'd grown to really appreciate Monk's dull, dry sense of humor. He was going to miss him. "It's not gonna be the same," he said.

"No," Monk agreed. "But if you ask Brody, I'm sure he'll let you help interview people."

Michael thought about that and nodded, making a mental note to do just that. If he was going to be stuck with a new co-worker, he wanted a say in who it turned out to be.

When his shift was over, he headed over to Vidorra and knocked on the door to Brody's apartment. He came right out with wanting to help, and Brody was grateful for it. He told Michael to take a seat on the couch, disappeared into the other room for a minute, and then came back with a stack of applications. "These are the candidates I've narrowed it down to," he said, setting the pile down on Michael's lap.

Michael stared at it in horror. " _This_ is narrowed down?"

"Hey, it's a popular job. I get a lot of applications."

"Anyone stand out?"

"A few. But if you look through 'em and tell me what you think, we might be able to narrow it down further. I mean, we _have_ to narrow it down further, obviously. We can't interview all these people."

Michael took one glance at the one on top and wasn't impressed, so he set it aside. But the next one was more interesting. "Oh, this guy for sure," he said, handing it over to Brody. "Look at his name."

"Buster Cherry," Brody read.

Michael waited for him to get how that sounded dirty, but apparently he didn't. " _Buster. Cherry,_ " he repeated slowly, emphasizing each word. "That's awesome."

"He's got a high GPA, too," Brody noted.

"Wait, not higher than mine, right?" Michael snatched the application back, relieved when he saw that Buster's GPA was a 3.6. "Okay, we're good. We can still interview him." He made Buster the start of his yes pile and took a look at the next one. "Let's see . . . Brooklyn Lockhart." He nodded appreciatively. "She sounds hot. We'll give her an interview." He added her to the yes pile, cringing when he saw the name on the next application. "Nope, not this guy. I wrestled him when I was a sophomore in high school. He's a chump." Another one to the no pile. He quickly sorted through a few more after that, stopping when he got to one _very_ notable application in the middle of the stack. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

Brody leaned over, asking, "You recognize the name?"

He grinned, intrigued, his eyes locked on the name at the top of the paper, a name that wouldn't allow him to look away. _Maria DeLuca._

"You could say that," he said, adding her to the yes pile for sure.

...

If only the stereotype that New Mexico was always hot were true. Maria longed for some warm weather as she scraped her car off in the parking lot. The temperature had been cold all morning, but it seemed to have dropped even more because of the cloud cover that had rolled in while she'd been in class. Her windshield was literally frosted over, and before she could drive home, she had to thaw it out. She had her car running now, but the layer of frost was so thick that it was barely melting.

She was struggling to scrape away a particularly thick sheen of ice on the passenger's side when she looked up and saw Michael coming her way. He wasn't even wearing a coat, just sweatpants and a long-sleeved black shirt. Either he was trying to look macho and tough during this cold weather, or it really didn't bother him. He _did_ tend to run pretty . . . hot.

"Hey," she said, trying to use her scraper like an ice pick now. "Did you sleep in today?" Class had been pretty boring without him.

"No, Sarah just isn't feelin' so well, so I stayed home to take care of her," he explained.

"Oh." How . . . thoughtful and sweet. "You're a good boyfriend."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and asked, "Did I miss anything?"

"Yeah, actually. He pretty much just laid out everything we need to know for the final."

His eyes widened in horror. "Are you serious?"

She laughed, amused that grades were _such_ a serious thing to him now. "Relax, I took notes. We can study together."

He sighed in relief. "Thanks."

"No problem." She pushed forward with her scraper, finally loosening up the thick ice. Slowly but surely, it was chipping away.

"Want some help?" he offered.

"Uh, sure. Here, I have another one of these." She opened up the passenger's side door, reached into her glove compartment for a smaller scraper, and handed it over to him, grateful for the help.

"I got this," he promised, jabbing the whole scraper into the ice layer with such strength that it cracked and started falling apart right away.

"So," she said, halfheartedly continuing to scrape at her side of the windshield, "something tells me you didn't walk out here just to help me scrape off my car."

"No, I wanted to talk to you."

Well, that sounded ominous. "About what?"

He cleared away enough ice so that she'd be able to see out her windshield and said, "Let's . . ." as he motioned to get in the car.

Happy to get out of the cold for a minute, she climbed into the passenger's seat and put her hands in front of the heater so they could warm up. He got in beside her, pulling his shirt sleeves down over his wrists.

"What's the matter?" she asked, worried that whatever he needed to talk to her about was something bad.

"Nothing," he said. "I just, uh . . . I wanted to give you a heads up that my boss Brody might be calling you today."

His _boss_? She didn't understand. "Why?"

"He wants to set up an interview."

It actually took her a minute to remember that she _had_ in fact dropped off an application to work for the housing department. It had been so long ago. "What?"

"Yeah, he liked your application."

That was great, she supposed, but also . . . unexpected at this point. "I applied right after I moved here, like back in August," she said.

"Well, you didn't get the job then, but now . . . you're in the running, so . . ." He shrugged. "Just thought I'd let you know. I mean, I don't even know if you still _want_ the job."

"Well . . . from a financial standpoint, yes. I know, it's just part-time, but I feel like, if I have a job, Max won't have to work so hard." The only reason why he painted people's houses was so that they had enough money coming in to get by without much worry. "I mean, I didn't plan to go without a job as long as I have, you know?" She'd filled out dozens of applications for dozens of different places right when she'd gotten to Carlsbad. But waitressing jobs were the only jobs that had wanted her, and she just . . . she just couldn't do that again.

"But?" he said, obviously sensing her reluctance.

"But . . ." There was a lot to consider, and the biggest consideration of all was sitting right there next to her. "Obviously back when I applied, I had no idea you worked there."

He made a face. "So you're gonna turn down a job just 'cause of me?"

"No, not necessarily." She was definitely willing to keep her options open. "It's just that . . . this complicates things for me."

"Why? We already have class together. We see each other all the time."

"Yeah, and if I get this job, we'll see each other even more."

"And that's a problem?"

"No, not for me." She immediately regretted saying that, because it made it sound like there _was_ a problem. And so far, there wasn't.

"For Max?" he assumed. "Are you worried about what he's gonna think?"

Of course she was. She had asked Max to put up with so much these past few months, and he'd gone about it agreeably and willingly. But what if this just pushed him past his breaking point? "Well, aren't you even the slightest bit concerned about Sarah?" she snapped.

"No, 'cause I talked to her about it last night. She knows it's just another . . . weird coincidence."

Maria frowned. When did all these intersections of their lives stop being coincidence and start being . . . something else? It scared her that Michael was becoming such a big part of her life again, and it scared her even more that the thought of this job . . . excited her.

"I have to talk to Max," she said. There were definitely good, logical reasons for her getting a job like they had originally intended. There were ways that it would benefit him. "But if it makes him uncomfortable . . ."

"He should suck it up and get over it," Michael grumbled. "If you're willing to get a job just to make things easier on him, he should be grateful."

Maria shook her head, knowing it wasn't that simple. It never was when Michael was involved.

"I'll finish your car here," he said, picking up the scraper again. He got out of the car and continued his work on her windshield.

She sat for a few more seconds inside, then got back out. But her mind was not focused on that frosted-over window anymore. "Michael," she said.

He stopped what he was doing and looked across at her.

"Don't pull any favors for me," she told him. "If I do this interview and get this job, I want it to be based off of my own merit, not your recommendation."

He stared at her incredulously and flapped his arms against his sides. "So what, I can't even put in a good word for you?"

She shook her head decidedly. "No. I wanna earn it."

He looked her right in the eye, and a slow, confident smile crept to his face. "You will," he said, and then he continued scraping the ice away.

She picked up her scraper and resumed doing the same. It started to come off easily now, because at this point, it was melting.

...

Max gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, wishing Maria had given him a little time to relax rather than just springing this on him right upon his return home from work. On the one hand, he was happy to hear that she might have a job in the works, but on the other hand . . .

"Max, say something," she begged.

He wasn't trying to be standoffish. He just needed a moment to contemplate everything. "What do you want me to say?" he said, turning around, forcing a smile. Even though he wasn't upset, it _did_ sort of seem like he was becoming fate's ultimate punch line here.

"I just want you to tell me what you're thinking," she said softly. "And just be honest."

"Honestly . . ." He shrugged. "It _is_ kind of weird how all these things keep happening. He was Dylan's coach, and he's your classmate, and now he's gonna be your coworker?"

"Potentially," she reminded him. "I don't even know if I'll get the job."

"No, you will." He believed in Maria. If she did in fact score an interview, she'd make the most of it. And he'd be happy for her, because he didn't want her to ever have to waitress again. He knew how much she hated doing that, and she'd done it for so long already. Too long.

"But I don't have to take it," she insisted. "If you don't want me to . . ."

"No, it's not . . ." He wasn't about to forbid her from doing anything. In the end, it wasn't his decision to make. "If this is what you want, then I support you. You know that."

"I just . . ." She sighed. "I feel so bad. I feel like, these past few months, you've had to be _so_ understanding of _so_ much."

He nodded, not about to dispute that. The whole semester had definitely tested him and maximized his patience. He'd had to trust her more than ever before. But then again, wasn't that the least he could do? After all, despite the numerable horrible things he'd done, she'd still learned to trust him again.

"But I _do_ think it would be good," she said. "I mean, I wanna be able to help out with money, and it's not like I'd be swimming in cash with this job, but at least it'd be something. Maybe you could spend more time at home and not have to work quite as much."

"Yeah." That _would_ be nice. For the past couple months, he'd been putting in around fifty hours of work per week, and now that he was coaching basketball, too, he felt the strain.

"And it's not like I'd be working with Michael all the time," she went on quickly. "I mean, I know he works alone a lot, so it's not like we'd always be-" She stopped abruptly when her phone rang, glancing down at the number. She didn't say anything, so Max automatically knew that was either Michael himself or his boss.

Maria picked up the phone and answered it. "Hello?"

Max bent down and took off his construction boots. He hadn't even had time to get out of his work clothes. All he really wanted to do was get in the shower, because today had been hard work.

"Yes, this is she," Maria said cordially, so clearly it wasn't Michael. The rest of her conversation was fairly standard, with her pretending not to have known in advance that she was going to be offered an interview. She set it up for the next day during the afternoon, and when that was done, she very politely said, "Okay, I look forward to it. Thank you," and hung up.

 _Alright, so this is happening,_ Max registered. It was fine.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" she asked him.

"Yeah." It was a job, so in the end, it was a good thing.

"Are you _sure_?" she asked again. She really still sounded like she would back out on the whole thing if he asked her to. So in a way, it was tempting to do just that.

" _Yes_ ," he insisted, refusing to be insecure. As weird as all of this was, he could deal. From the moment Michael had charged out of that office at school and started beating on him, the reality of Carlsbad had shifted gears. He'd known then that it wouldn't be exactly what he had pictured, and he knew it now. But it didn't matter. Because at the end of the day, he was the one Maria came home to. He was the guy who slept with her, in more ways than one, and the guy who was raising a child with her. So when it came right down to it, he had nothing to worry about.

...

Michael noticed Maria was wearing his sweatshirt again. Normally, he would have teased her about it a little bit, but he was too eager to find out if she was going to be one of the candidates he was helping interview today.

"So did he call?" he asked right as she sat down in her usual spot in the back row of the room.

"Who, Brody?"

"No, the pope."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, he called."

"So are you doin' the interview?" He really hoped so, because he was looking forward to it.

"Yeah," she said. "I talked to Max about it, and he's fine, so . . ."

 _So you got his permission,_ he thought bitterly, hating that she wouldn't do it if he told her not to.

"I'm kinda nervous," she admitted.

"Relax," he told her. "You'll be fine."

"I don't have the best track record with job interviews."

"Hey, if I got hired, it can't be too hard."

She smiled. "Yeah, but you're, like, this superstar of college. What's your GPA again? 3.7?"

"3.8," he corrected readily.

"See?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty fuckin' awesome," he boasted, stretching out, yawning. He started envisioning what it would be like to work with Maria then, her taking Monk's place on the double shifts, and his yawn transformed into a grin.

"What?" she said.

"Ah, just . . ." He didn't want to get her hopes up when she hadn't yet gotten the job, but it was hard not to. "Don't you think it'd be kinda fun to work together?"

"It'd be weird," she mumbled.

"Weird but fun." He smirked, wondering if he could convince her to do chair races with him like Monk used to.

"I just have to get the job first," she said, squirming in her seat a bit. "I'm actually starting to get _really_ nervous."

"Relax. Brody's a nice guy," he assured her. " _Not_ intimidating."

"So I just have to impress him then?" she said. "He's the only one who's gonna interview me?"

"Yeah." He kept his mischievous grin in check, just because he knew there was a possibility she'd freak out if she knew he got to interview her, too.

...

"So, Maria, on your application, you listed responsibility as the most important workplace skill," Brody recounted as he and Michael sat with Maria in the plush chairs outside the elevators at the Vidorra suites.

"Yes," Maria said, nodding.

Michael gave her a prodding look. She had to say _more_ , even though Brody technically hadn't asked her a question.

She interpreted his look quickly and added on, "Because . . . you have to be responsible for everything, whether it's showing up on time or making sure you do a good job while you're on the clock, or even owning up to a mistake if you make one. Because that's bound to happen."

"Right," Brody said, jotting down a few notes.

Michael pretended to write some stuff down, too, then asked the next question on the list Brody had printed off for him. "Give us an example of how you've demonstrated responsibility in your own life."

"Um . . ." She hesitated momentarily.

 _Come on, Maria,_ he thought, hoping she didn't get hung up. _This should be easy for you._

"Well, obviously as a college student, I have to be responsible enough to study and get projects and papers done on time."

Michael sighed inwardly, disappointed that she hadn't mentioned Dylan, and how she'd worked two jobs at eighteen years old just so she could handle the responsibility of taking care of him. He wanted to mention it for her, but he'd promised Brody that he would treat Maria just like the other two candidates they'd decided to interview today.

The elevator doors opened, and out strolled Roxie, wearing just a man's t-shirt and probably a whole lot of nothing underneath. She bypassed the three of them completely and dazedly approached the front desk.

"Oh, Michael, you'd better take care of that," Brody told him.

He got up, laying his clipboard and interview sheet face down on the chair, and resumed his post at the desk, because even though he was interviewing, he was technically still on the clock. "Roxie," he said.

"Hey, Michael," she chirped, twisting her red hair around her finger flirtatiously. "You look so hot."

"I know," he agreed. "Don't tell me it happened again."

She pouted exaggeratedly and whimpered, "I don't know why I always lock myself out."

 _Because you're dumb as a fence post,_ he thought. But he settled for, "It's a head-scratcher," instead, knowing that the sarcasm wouldn't register with her. He gave her the skeleton key card and made a note on her room card that she was having to use it again. One more time this semester and she'd have to pay a fifty dollar fee, but if he was the one on duty when it happened again, he'd probably just let it slide on account of her being a total idiot.

"Hopefully I never lock myself _in_ ," she said, taking the skeleton key from him.

"What? You can't . . ." Oh, this girl. She was like Peter Griffin from _Family Guy,_ only . . . thin and hot. "Yeah, don't do that," he said, figuring it would take more time to explain to her why locking herself _in_ her room was impossible and that it was best to just go along with it. "Now you know the drill. Bring that one back to me _after_ you've got your real key in your hand. Got it?"

"Okay!" she exclaimed, waving at him. "Thanks, Michael!" She skipped back to the elevator, lifting up her t-shirt to give him a quick flash of her ass before she got on.

"You see, that's what makes Michael such a great employee, the charisma," he heard Brody saying as he returned to the comfy chairs. "He's able to get along with just about anyone."

"Well, I've also slept with that girl," Michael pointed out, "so that probably helps."

"Michael!" Brody hissed.

"What?" He motioned to Maria and assured his boss, "She knows."

"Yeah, I know," Maria said. "It's fine."

Brody sighed and shook his head. "Right. Listen, Maria, Michael _did_ tell me that the two of you have a history, so with that in mind, I hope you understand that I need to ask you a personal question."

Immediately, she looked worried. "Sure," she said, smiling shakily.

 _Just stay calm, Maria,_ Michael thought. _You got this._

"If you were to get this job, the two of you _would_ work together at times," Brody said. "Do you foresee your personal relationship interfering at all with your professional one?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Maria answered quickly. "I know Michael prides himself on this job and takes it seriously, and I would do the same."

Michael smiled. _Good answer._

"And as for our relationship . . ." she said, casting a quick sideways glance at him. "It's just a friendship nowadays. It wouldn't be a distraction, because there's really nothing else there."

Brody smiled and jotted down a few notes, apparently satisfied with that answer, but the second part of it made Michael frown. Nothing else there? What the hell? He wondered if she really believed that, or if she was just saying it.

When the interview was over, Brody left to go take care of some business in one of the dorms, and Michael went back behind the front desk to finish the rest of his shift. Maria stayed for a bit, though, and he took the opportunity to confront her about what she'd said.

"Nothing?" he said dramatically. " _Nothing_?"

"What? I said we have a friendship," she reminded him.

"And nothing else."

"Well, there is nothing else," she said. "Right?"

"I guess."

"So why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad." He supposed that _maybe_ he had just hoped she would at least still feel attracted to him or something. Physically, at least. Because for him, that hadn't gone away.

"I don't get you sometimes," she mumbled.

Yeah, sometimes he didn't get himself.

In the midst of this whole interview, he'd nearly forgotten about Roxie, but she came back down to the front desk in the middle of their conversation. She had pants on now, which was . . . a shame.

"Oh, Roxie," he said, "this has to be a new record-long for you. What happened?"

"I got confused," she said, handing him the skeleton key card.

"Of course you did."

When she noticed Maria standing there, her entire face took on this befuddled expression. "Wait a minute," she said as she motioned back and forth between the two of them, "I didn't know you guys were back together again."

Maria tensed, and Michael said, "We're not."

"Oh." Roxie's whole brow furrowed up as her simple little mind tried to figure it out. "I'm confused again."

"Just go have sex or something," he suggested.

"Ooh, that sounds fun!" she exclaimed. She pranced back to the elevator and got back on, calling, "Bye, Michael!" as the doors shut.

"Well, I guess not everyone changes after high school," Maria remarked.

Michael smirked. No, Roxie sure as hell hadn't changed, even though most everyone else had.

"So how do you think I did?" Maria asked, sitting on the edge of the front desk. "Honestly."

Honestly . . . he'd wanted her to do better. "You did alright," he replied.

"Just alright?"

"Well, some of your answers were a little . . . generic."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like when you were talking about responsibility. I thought you could've mentioned Dylan and how you had to work so hard to be responsible for him."

"I just didn't know if I should," she said. "Anytime I mention that I have a son, you can just see this shift in people's eyes. It's like they start to do the math and form opinions about me just because I had him so young."

"But Brody's not a judgmental guy, you know?" he said, wishing that he'd given her more advice before she'd gone into this. "He wouldn't hold that against you. In fact, he'd probably respect it."

She sighed heavily, shoulders slumping in disappointment. "So you don't think I got the job?"

"I don't know. We'll see." He knew she was _his_ top choice, but not because of her interview.

"Don't lobby for me," she reminded him.

"I won't."

"Promise?"

He was already planning out what he was going to say to Brody . . . but she didn't need to know that. "Promise."

After his shift was over, he met up with Brody in Brody's apartment and made his case. "I'm tellin' you, Maria DeLuca will work her ass off," he declared. "She's used to it. And she _is_ responsible, and she's easy to get along with. Trust me, she's the one."

Brody gave him a skeptical look. "I bet you've said that before."

Well, yeah, he had. In a different context, but . . . "Look, I know I said I'd be unbiased . . ."

"But you're not," Brody cut in.

"I tried to be," he insisted. "But come on, Brooklyn was late, and Buster kind of seemed like a prick."

"No, I thought he seemed very professional and mature," Brody disagreed.

"And Maria didn't?"

He shrugged. "She just seemed nervous."

"Everyone's nervous during a job interview," Michael pointed out.

"Buster wasn't."

"No, 'cause he was cocky." There, that was the way to spin it. "He acted like he already knew everything. Did you notice that?"

Brody sighed, clearly conflicted. "You don't think you'd work well with him, huh?" he deduced.

"No, it'd be a train wreck." Honestly, it wouldn't have been so bad; Buster hadn't even _really_ seemed all that horrible. But he was no Monk, and he was _definitely_ no Maria. Working with him would be . . . work; working with Maria would be fun. "I'm telling you, Maria's . . . she's a really good person," he pressed on, determined not to let up until he was pretty sure he'd managed to change Brody's mind. "She deserves this." He didn't want this interview to be another in long line of failed interviews for Maria. He wanted her to get this job. Partly for himself, sure, but . . . mostly for her.

"I'll think about it," Brody decided, and Michael knew that was the best it was going to get.

That night, while they were in the bathroom getting ready for bed, Sarah asked him about it. "So did she get the job?"

He wished he knew the answer, but it was obviously going to be Brody's call, and it was still very much up in the air. "I don't know," he said. "It's between her and this guy . . ." He trailed off, chuckling. "This guy named—wait for it—Buster Cherry." He laughed some more, because any time he said that name, it was just hilarious to him.

Sarah gave him a look, like she didn't hear the same humor in it that he did.

He flapped his arms against his sides, groaning, "Am I the only one who thinks that's funny?"

...

Maria stood outside on her small porch the next morning, watching Max and Dylan play basketball in the driveway. It was warmer out today than it had been the past few days, so Max had been eager to get in some extra practice time with Dylan, but he was trying to go about it in a fun way.

"Dribble, dribble," he instructed as Dylan tried to get the ball around him. "Shoot!"

Dylan jumped, pushing the ball up and forward, and much to Max's delight, it went through the net.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "Alright, look at that!" He gave Dylan a high five, and Dylan smiled proudly. He didn't celebrate the way he had when he'd caught his first football, though. It was like his passion for this sport just wasn't quite there yet. And _yet_ was definitely the key word, because it was obvious that Max intended to get it there.

"Good job," Max said as he retrieved the basketball. "Are you likin' this a little better now?"

Dylan shrugged wordlessly.

"Oh come on," Max urged. "You're gettin' good. Come on, let's go again." He passed the ball back to his son, and Dylan started dribbling it again.

Maria would have watched more, but her phone vibrated in the front pocket of her jeans. When she took it out, she recognized the number as Brody's and went inside to take the call.

"Hello?" she said, trying not to sound nervous even though she was.

"Hi, Maria. It's Brody Davis," he said.

"Hey." Oh god, what if this was the typical rejection phone call? She'd had so many of those over the years.

"I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to come in and interview yesterday," he said.

She cringed inwardly, thinking this didn't sound good. It seemed like he was about to tell her someone else had gotten the job.

"And . . . I was wondering if you could come in tomorrow, too," he added, much to her surprise, "if you'd still like to work for the housing department, that is."

For a second, she thought she hadn't heard him correctly. She even had to say, "What?"

"I'd like to offer you the job," he stated plainly. "Are you still interested?"

Her mouth dropped open, and she had to clasp her hand over it for a second to keep an excited squeal inside. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I'm very interested. Thank you so much."

"Great, great," Brody said. "Welcome to the team then. I think you'll make a great addition."

"Thank you," she said again, bouncing up and down a little. "And yes, I _can_ come in tomorrow. What time?"

"Does 2:00 work?"

Max would be home with Dylan, so anything worked. "Sure."

"Alright, just plan on being there until about 5:00 then. I've got some paperwork I need you to fill out, and then we'll get you workin'."

"Sounds good," she said. "Um, I'm not gonna be alone, though, right?" She had no problem with solo shifts eventually, but as of right now, she didn't really know what to do.

"No, Michael's gonna be there," he told her. "I'm gonna have him do your training."

 _Because he's the favorite employee,_ she thought. But she didn't mind the thought of working with him at all. He would make it entertaining, and the time would probably just fly by.

"Does that sound like a plan?" Brody asked.

"It sounds great," she confirmed, proud of herself for getting this job. It would be nice to be able to contribute _something_ to her family so that Max wouldn't have to pay for everything.

"Alright, see you tomorrow then," Brody said. "Bye, Maria."

"Bye."

She ended the call and finally let out that squeal of delight. It was _so_ nice to actually be offered a job rather than turned down. And this job wouldn't require her to act happy all the time just for the sake of collecting tips.

She was excited to tell Max, but first, she called Michael. He answered after the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey," she said, grinning from ear to ear. "Guess what?"


	39. Chapter 39

"Faster."

Maria ignored Michael and kept up her steady pace as she sorted the mail into piles for each floor of the Vidorra suites. But when he said it again, it annoyed her.

"Faster."

She shot him an angry look. "I'm going as fast as I can. I don't know your system here."

"That's why I'm trying to _teach_ you the system," he said.

"Well, maybe you're a bad teacher."

"No, I'm a good teacher," he said, grinning. "You know that."

She paused briefly, knowing that he was referencing . . . all the things he'd taught her. About sex. About what she liked to do sexually.

Oh god, she couldn't think about that.

She resumed sorting the envelopes into piles, but he quickly spotted one that wasn't right and picked it back up again. "Hold up. This is room 217. You put it in the three-hundreds pile."

"Oh my god, shame on me. It's the end of the world," she said overdramatically, snatching the envelope back from him, putting it in the correct pile.

"It could be," he said. "What if there was something vitally important in this envelope and the person didn't get it because you put it in the wrong pile and in the wrong mailbox? You ever think of that?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "You're so ridiculous."

"Watch it now," he cautioned. "I'm your boss."

"No, Brody's my boss. You're my coworker."

"No, technically today I _am_ your boss," he persisted. That mischievous grin of his reappeared, and he added, " 'cause I'm more experienced."

She shuddered internally as the double meaning of _that_ claim resonated with her. She couldn't even formulate a response, even though she knew he wasn't really _trying_ to flirt with her. It was just something that came naturally to him, like breathing. He'd mastered the art form of it and probably didn't even realize he was doing it right now.

"I get to boss you around," he declared, obviously loving every second of this. "You gotta do what I say."

"No, I don't," she disagreed.

"Ooh, insubordination. Job strike number one," he teased.

"Shut up, Michael."

"Back-talking. That's number two."

She swung her hand out and whacked his shoulder playfully.

"Physical harassment!" he yelped, pretending like that had hurt. "Number three right there!"

Despite how much she was acting like she was annoyed . . . she couldn't help but smile and shake her head. Michael was . . . fun. He always had been.

"So did you know I was gonna get the job?" she asked him as she tried to finish up the mail sorting. It really _was_ taking her longer than it should have, but that was because he was distracting.

"I knew it was between you and one other person," he said. "Named Buster Cherry."

" _Buster Cherry?_ " she echoed, her mind immediately misconstruing the sound of it. "That's hilarious."

"I know!" he exclaimed. "That's what I keep saying."

"Who would name their kid that?"

"Yeah, really. Oh, and look at this guy." He picked up the top envelope from the first floor pile and read the name of the person it was addressed to. "Miles Long."

"Oh!" She couldn't help but laugh. "That's really bad."

"Actually, I think it's kinda cool," he said. "I'd name my kid that."

"Parents should really think twice," she said, suddenly wondering if there was any way her own son's name could be misinterpreted. "There's nothing that can go wrong with Dylan DeLuca, right? _Dylan DeLuca._ " It sounded fine to her.

"No, I think he's safe," Michael said.

"Good." She sorted out the last few envelopes, then declared, "There. It's done."

" _Finally,_ " he groaned exaggeratedly. "Now you gotta put 'em in their mailboxes. Fast."

"Fine." She grabbed the first floor pile and slipped through a door that led to what Michael called 'the mailroom.' It was basically just the small, dimly-lit, cramped space behind the mailboxes. There was barely room for her alone back there, but he came back, too, just so he could supervise and tease her some more.

"Faster," he urged as she went about her work. "Faster."

She shot him a quasi-annoyed look, barely managing to keep her smile subdued.

...

Michael was in a good mood when he got off work, but he decided to downplay it a little. Even though Sarah was as understanding and secure as a girlfriend could be, he still didn't see any point in letting her know how much fun he'd had bossing Maria around today.

"Hey," she said, only briefly glancing up from her laptop. "How was work?"

"It was good," he replied, kicking off his shoes.

"How'd Maria do?"

"Pretty well." He leaned over the back of the couch and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Cramming?" he noted.

"No, not at all. In fact, I'm totally prepared," she proclaimed, closing the laptop.

"Oh, are you now?"

"Yes." She set the computer aside on the coffee table and stood up. Stretching, she inquired, "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm gonna ace 'em all," he predicted.

"Even your music one?"

"Uh-huh." He still had to do a little studying for that one, but luckily it wasn't until Thursday. He had time.

"What about your psychology paper?" she asked.

" _Yeah,_ " he said slowly, "about that . . . I was kinda hopin' you might-"

"Proofread it?" she cut in knowingly.

"Yeah."

She stepped up onto the couch, about eye level with him now, and said, "I suppose," as she fell against him.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. "You're the best." His hands, out of habit, started creeping up underneath her shirt, but she pulled back slightly as they did so.

"Uh-uh, don't get too carried away," she said.

"Why not?" He wanted to.

Just as he said that, there was a knock at the door.

"Because our friends are here," she said, hopping down off the couch.

 _Right,_ he thought. They were having a movie night or something; Sarah had wanted a night to take the edge off of finals week. A night full of sex would have been just fine with him, but this would be alright, too.

When she opened the door, it was only Tess standing there, and she didn't look happy.

"Hey," Sarah greeted. "Where's Kyle?"

"He's coming," Tess mumbled, slipping inside. She went straight to the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. Michael thought about making some kind of pregnancy joke about food cravings, but then he figured it was probably in his best interest not to.

Sarah waited at the door, and Kyle came in a few seconds later. He was walking slowly, but he didn't even have his cane. And he actually looked clean-shaven and not so much like he'd been laying on the couch all day.

"Kyle, you look nice," Sarah remarked.

"Thanks," he said, patting his stomach. "Trying to lose some weight."

Even though he still looked heavier than he ought to have been, Michael did feel like he looked a little more like his old self. And that was refreshing.

Apparently Tess wasn't impressed, though, because, with an unopened pudding cup in hand, she grabbed Sarah's arm and pulled her into the bathroom without a word.

"Whoa," Michael said, kicking the front door shut. "If we hear that shower start up, we're goin' in there. That could be hot."

"Ah, she's mad at me," Kyle said. "We got in an argument on the way here."

"About what?"

"I don't even know. It's so hard to follow her train of thought right now," Kyle lamented. "She's all over the place."

"Well, she's pregnant," Michael pointed out. Pregnant women generally weren't known for rational thinking.

"I wasn't even mad at her," Kyle said, "so I don't know why we argued."

"What set her off?" There had to be something, even if it wasn't something big. Girls did that; they took one small little issue or little word and blew it up into this whole big thing.

"I told her I think we should go ahead and get married," Kyle revealed.

Michael grunted. "About time."

"No, but she just freaked out. She started cryin' and yellin' at me."

"What?" Michael didn't get it. He knew Kyle had gotten into the habit of saying some pretty dumbass shit over these past few years, but what the hell was wrong with this?

"She said it pissed her off that I would even mention it right now, 'cause she thinks the only reason I wanna marry her is 'cause she's pregnant."

"Well . . ." In a way, Michael could _kind of_ understand where she was going with that.

"No, but that's not the _only_ reason," Kyle clarified. "I mean, did finding out that I'm gonna be a father light a fire under my butt? Yeah, it spurs me on. But we've been engaged for a while. I know I should've married her a long time ago. This pregnancy just, you know, gets us back on track with that."

Michael didn't want to deflate his best friend too much, but it seemed to him that he and Tess were about as _off_ track as they'd ever been. And maybe they needed to reconnect before marriage was a feasible possibility.

"Well, it'll all work out," Michael assured him. Even if their relationship was hanging by a thread . . . at least that thread hadn't snapped completely.

"I don't know," Kyle muttered skeptically. "I'm really trying; I really am. But I feel like I'm fucked either way. And honestly, at this point, bro, I'd be shocked if she even lets this kid have my last name."

Michael frowned, because hearing that made him think of Dylan, and the circumstance that had led to his last name being DeLuca rather than Evans. Tess and Kyle were going through a rough patch, sure, but Kyle wasn't like Max. He wasn't abandoning Tess, leaving her to raise this child on her own. If Tess didn't start to understand that, Michael was going to start to get pissed.

...

Sarah didn't know what to do to calm Tess down. The girl was just a hysterical wreck. She'd barely made it in the bathroom before she sat down on the floor, leaning back against the door, and started sobbing. And she hadn't let up.

Sarah reached up on top of the back of the toilet and grabbed another handful of tissues out of the box, handing them to her friend. "Tess, I'm sorry," she said. "I wish I could say something to make you feel better."

Tess shrugged hopelessly, wiping off her cheeks. "That's just it: Nothing makes me feel better," she cried. "Being pregnant is _so_ crazy, Sarah. It's like I wake up every day feeling one way, and then I go to bed feeling completely different. And I'm _so_ hormonal, anything can set me off."

"Like Kyle?" Sarah guessed.

"Yes! And I mean, I _know_ he was just trying to do the right thing when he said we should get married, and I didn't mean to bite his head off about it, and part of me still really does wanna marry him, but the other part of me just worries that he doesn't really love me anymore, and I'm so freaking out here!"

"Okay, okay," Sarah said softly, trying to interject a calming tone into her best friend's emotional rant. "So you're freaking out. That's okay. That's normal. But look at Kyle. I've never seen him seen him try so hard to be . . ." She trailed off, looking for the right word. "Better."

Tess sniffled, nodding sadly. "He _is_ doing better," Tess acknowledged. "I think this baby's really giving him motivation."

"See? That's great."

More tears fell from Tess's eyes, and she didn't wipe them away this time. "I just worry," she said. "What if it's just temporary? What if we never really recapture what we used to have?"

"Well . . ." Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "You'll never know unless you try."

Tess exhaled shakily, nodding, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with the tissues. She still didn't look completely calm to Sarah, but maybe she would be if they just sat in there for a little while longer.

...

Finals week started for Sarah right away on Monday, but Michael didn't have an exam that day. So he studied with Maria at work, purposefully answering questions wrong at first while she quizzed him, just so he'd be able to see that stunned look on her face when he started answering them right. The fact that he was a good student now seemed to infuriate her just as much as it made her proud.

When Tuesday rolled around, it was time to turn in the paper Sarah had proofread for him _and_ take his final exam for Social Psychology on top of it. He knew all the answers like the back of his hand. _Self-efficacy. Empathy. Superego. Id._

He had an exam for his other psychology class, too, but instead of being multiple choice, it was a persuasive essay. There were three questions, and he only had to choose one to answer. He chose _Does exposure to adult sexual behavior harm children?_ Because all he had to do was think about Tina, and the paragraphs just flowed onto the page.

On Wednesday, he completed the last day of his practicum at Pound. Vanessa signed off on all his paperwork and wished him a happy holiday, but there was really no need to say goodbye. Even though he wouldn't be her student next semester, he'd still be there, and if this Jake kid was as high-maintenance as everyone said he was, he'd be working with her a lot.

After managing to squeeze in one more study session with Maria, it was time for his last final of the semester in Music Appreciation. Once he was done with that test, he'd be done with everything, officially on Christmas break.

He had to move one seat down so that there was an empty space in between him and Maria during the final. But he was still close enough that he could look at her and smile when the TA set their exam booklets down in front of them. He wanted her to do well, and he knew she would if she didn't second-guess herself.

He finished the test quickly and glanced over at her to gauge her progress. She definitely wasn't zipping through it like him, but she didn't seem frazzled by any of the questions. She darkened the ovals on her answer sheet slowly and deliberately, and he really had no choice but to get up and hand in his test. He couldn't very well wait in the lecture hall for her after that, so he waited right outside the door instead.

When she emerged, she looked confident. "Hey, you didn't have to wait," she said.

He shrugged. No big deal. He didn't have anything going on today. "So how do you think you did?" he asked her.

"I think I did really well," she said. "Let me guess: You aced it."

He smirked. "Always do."

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "I don't think I'll ever get used to you being such a good student."

"I know, it's weird," he agreed. At least he was still a back-of-the-class kid. In this class, at least. They both were.

Together, they walked down the hallway, her questioning, "So are you heading home tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow or Saturday," he said. It really depended on when Sarah finished her last final. "What about you?"

"My mom and Max's mom are both coming to our house this year," she replied.

"Oh." He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Maria's mom . . . she was a real pill. And Diane Evans wasn't exactly a huge fan of his, either.

"And Max invited Isabel, too."

Michael snorted. "Good."

"Good?" she echoed incredulously.

"Yeah, it's about time he steps up and actually does something for his sister."

Just like she always did, she immediately jumped to his defense. "He just distances himself from her because he doesn't wanna get caught up in any of the shady stuff she's involved in."

"But I thought he was _such_ a changed guy, remember?"

"Michael . . ." She shot him a warning look, and he knew he had to shut up.

"Fine." He could get in some more jabs at Max _after_ Christmas break. "So what else you got planned?"

"Uh, nothing much," she said as they walked outside. Then she groaned. "Ugh, next Saturday we this holiday basketball tournament."

"Fuck basketball," he grumbled. "It's a lame sport."

"Well, Dylan's getting pretty good at it," she said. "He must've gotten all his athleticism from Max, 'cause he sure as hell didn't get any from me."

Even though it was stupid, and even though it didn't _really_ matter, Michael just had to ask, "He still likes football better, right?"

She looked up at him and quietly said, "Yeah. It's his favorite."

Michael's chest swelled with pride for a moment, and he smiled inwardly. Because it was nice to know that Dylan hadn't gotten _everything_ from Max.

...

It ended up being Saturday before Michael and Sarah hit the road for Roswell, just two days before Christmas. They were among the last students to leave, except for the international students, who all had to be relocated to one dorm over break.

From the moment they walked in the front door, they were basically ignored by Tina, because all her attention was on the dog. "Shango!" she exclaimed, struggling to bend down with her ever-rounded stomach in the way. He was still light enough for her to pick up, though, and when she did, he immediately went crazy trying to lick her face.

"Watch out for him," Michael cautioned. "He's goin' through a horny phase."

"Ew," Tina said. "What?"

"Yeah, he humps everything in sight." Truth be told, it kind of made Michael proud, though, to know that his dog had a healthy libido.

"I keep saying we should get him neutered," Sarah said.

"No, I'm not gonna do that to my dog," Michael protested. "Strip away his masculinity? Forget about it. Listen, Tina, if he starts, it's best to just let him finish."

Making a face, she set Shango back down again.

"We need to discipline him more then," Sarah decided.

"He's fine," Michael insisted.

"No, he's not. Remember the other night? I thought Tess's leg was gonna come right off."

Michael chuckled at the memory of that horrified look on Tess's face. "That was funny."

"Not to her."

"Fine, we'll get him one of those big teddy bears then," Michael proposed. "And any time he feels like it, he can just get that bear and . . . you know . . . do this thing." There. That was a simple enough solution.

"That's actually not a bad idea," Tina said. "Cats have scratching posts. Shango can have a hump bear."

"See?" It was a genius solution, and Michael was proud of himself for coming up with it.

"Whatever," Sarah mumbled. "Where's your mom at?"

"Oh, she just had to run out to get a few last-minute gifts," Tina replied. "She'll be back soon, though."

"Good," Michael said. He didn't like the thought of Tina being here alone, because who the hell knew what kind of shit she could get into when she was unsupervised.

"Michael!" Sarah yelped suddenly, pointing into the living room. "Look." Shango was sniffing around the Christmas tree, poised as if he were about to lift his leg and pee on the tree skirt.

"Dammit," he swore, rushing to his dog. He scooped him up and hurried him outside.

Once they were out there, of course, Shango miraculously didn't have to pee anymore. He just wandered around the front lawn, sniffing aimlessly. Michael stayed out there with him, though, because he didn't want him to run off.

Tina stepped outside wearing a big, oversized black jacket that he recognized as his dad's. It had the name of his construction company up by the left shoulder, and it was more than a little well-worn.

"So are we gonna have a good Christmas?" she asked him.

"I don't know," he answered. "You tell me." He was going to try to get along with her as well as she could, but if she channeled her teenage-bitch mode and said something to set him off . . . well, he'd never been one to bite his tongue.

"No, _you_ tell me," she said. "I wanna have a good Christmas."

"So do I." This was the last one that would be normal for her. Next year at this time, she'd have a kid, and her life would be a lot harder than it was now. But she still didn't know that yet.

She sighed, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets, looking down at her feet. She mumbled something that sounded like, "Mom invited Nicholas over," but . . . no. There was no way that could possibly be right.

"What?" he said.

She lifted her head and said it louder. "Mom invited Nicholas over. He's coming tonight."

Michael bristled, wondering if there was some sort of punch line coming. Because this had to be a joke. It _had_ to be. "Are you kidding me?" he spat.

Her serious facial expression didn't change one bit. "No."

He stared at her in disbelief, about to lose his cool. Because apparently his mom had lost her mind.

When she got home, he wasted no time pulling her into the kitchen, leaving Sarah and Tina in the living room to play with Shango and try to keep him away from that tree. He confronted her about this ridiculous, _insane_ idea right away, because he wanted to put an end to it.

"Why the hell would you invite him over?" he demanded, struggling to keep his voice down.

"It wasn't a decision I made in two seconds, okay?" she assured him. "But Michael . . . he comes from a rough home."

 _Like ours,_ he thought bitterly.

"He lives in a trailer park," she went on, "with his dad, who's an unemployed, abusive alcoholic."

"Hmm, sounds familiar," he grumbled.

"But he's _physically_ abusive, Michael. He came over to see Tina the other day, and he had a huge black eye. I felt horrible."

"Yeah, it sucks," Michael agreed. His dad hadn't been abusive, but they'd gotten into a fist fight a time or two. He didn't wish that on anyone. "But that doesn't mean you should invite him to spend Christmas with us."

"Michael, as much as we may hate to accept this, Tina _is_ having a child with this boy. In a couple months, they are gonna be parents, and I think trying to keep them apart might do more harm than good."

Michael groaned, shaking his head. "He's not part of this family."

"Well, whether we like it or not, he's starting a family with her," she said. "So maybe we need to make room for him."

Michael clenched his hands into fists, fighting the urge to kick a chair or punch a wall or something. "Where's he gonna sleep?"

"On the couch."

"Then where am I gonna sleep?"

"In your room, with Sarah. I figured you wouldn't mind that."

In his _room_? He hadn't slept in there for years. Whenever he came to Roswell, Sarah was with him, and she took the room and he took the couch. But now they had to make room for fucking Nicholas.

"This is bullshit," he swore. "I don't like this, Mom."

"I know you don't," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "but _please_ try to stay calm about it. I want us to have a nice Christmas. And Sarah's here. You don't wanna make her feel uncomfortable, do you?"

"No, Sarah knows how I feel about Nicholas," he mumbled.

"Just tone down the hostility," she requested. "It's Christmas."

 _Yeah, a time for miracles,_ he thought grumpily. He was going to need a miracle to survive these next few days at home.

...

Isabel was halfway asleep on the couch when she felt a presence near her. She opened her tired eyes and saw Jesse standing over her, holding a mistletoe above her head.

"Hey, baby," he said, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Mmm," she moaned, moving around a bit. She stretched out her limbs, then curled her legs up to make room for him to sit down. "Where'd you go tonight?" she asked.

"Just out with Eric and Courtney," he answered. "They're still out."

"Where'd they go?" she asked, draping her legs over his lap.

He chuckled. "You don't wanna know."

"What, like an orgy or something?"

"Yeah."

She frowned. "And you went with them?" Jesse went out without her sometimes—that wasn't unusual. But sometimes she worried that he'd hook up with someone when she wasn't there.

"I didn't do anything," he promised. "A couple girls there recognized me from the site, but . . . nothing happened."

"Good." Maybe their relationship was unconventional, but at least she knew she could trust him.

"So . . ." he said, massaging her calves. "My mom's gonna come visit tomorrow."

"Is she?" She hadn't been aware of that. Jesse's mom lived in Miami, so usually they just talked on the phone for the holidays.

"I'm flyin' her out," he said. "We haven't spent Christmas together in years."

"That'll be nice," she said. Jesse and his mom had a good, solid relationship. She knew about the website and all the videos, but she didn't judge him for it. She just loved him unconditionally.

"I told Courtney and Eric they gotta be on their best behavior," he said. "And you, too."

"I'm always on my best behavior." She grinned.

He laughed. "Yeah, right."

"I won't be here on Christmas Day, though," she reminded him. "I'm going to Max's."

"To Max's?" he echoed.

"Yeah. Remember?" She'd told him over a week ago, mentioned it multiple times.

"I forgot about that," he said. "Hmm. You sure you don't wanna just stay here?"

Oh, she was sure. She was _very_ sure. She had nothing against Jesse's mom, even though she'd never met her. They'd spoken over the phone a couple times, and she seemed like a nice woman. But spending Christmas with her just wasn't a substitute for spending it with her own mom. "I have to go," she said.

"You don't _have_ to do anything."

"But I _want_ to," she clarified. "I miss Max, and I miss my mom."

"But you and your mom don't even talk anymore," he said.

"Exactly." This was going to be their chance to do just that. "I'll be here tomorrow night," she promised. "So I'll see your mom then."

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "Well, listen . . ." He maneuvered so that he was practically lying on top of her, his body warm and heavy against hers. "If things don't go the way you hope with your brother and your mom, you just come home to the people who _really_ love you, okay?"

She frowned. What was he insinuating, that her mom didn't love her anymore? Maybe they didn't speak, but that didn't mean . . . that didn't mean the love was gone. It had to still be in there somewhere.

"Jesse . . ." She wanted to tell him that that had kind of hurt her feelings, but before she could, he held up that mistletoe again and silenced her with a kiss.

...

Sleep wasn't coming easy that night. Not to Michael, at least. Beside him, Sarah was out. It was almost instantaneous from the moment her head hit the pillow.

He knew he should have been able to fall asleep easily. It was _his_ bedroom, after all, the one he'd slept in for eighteen years. Same bed, same pillows, same blankets, same everything. And the same girl he fell asleep with every single night. But it felt weird because of the fact that he used to share that bed with Maria. Sarah knew that, but it didn't bother her. It didn't necessarily _bother_ him, either; it was just . . . it was just weird.

As he lay there restlessly, he thought he heard movement out in the hallway. Immediately on alert, he got out of bed and walked to the door, pressing his ear against it to see if he could hear anything. He couldn't. It was more of a feeling than anything else.

He swung the door open, and lo and behold, there was Nicholas, trying to quietly open the door to Tina's room.

"Don't even think about it," Michael growled, shooting him a threatening glare.

Nicholas quickly closed the door and skittered back towards the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet on the way down. "Sorry," he apologized frantically. "Sorry."

Michael rolled his eyes, not fucking amused. As long as this little twerp was spending the night here, he was going to have to play guard dog and keep him out of Tina's room.

He told his mom about the incident, and she asked Tina about it at breakfast the next morning. Nicholas was still asleep—big fucking surprise—and Sarah was in the shower, so while it was just the three of them, it was the right time to talk about it.

"That can't happen, Tina," Krista said. "If you want him to be able to spend the holiday with us, he can't be doing that."

"But it's not fair," Tina complained. "Michael and Maria used to share a room."

Michael snorted. "Michael and Maria were eighteen."

"Yeah, well, Michael and Maria weren't having a baby together," she snapped back.

"Exactly."

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "My point is, I'm already pregnant. What other trouble can I get into?"

Michael slammed his fist down on the table, growing more and more pissed off with each passing second. "Tina, I'm not even fucking kidding, I will _deck_ that kid if he tries to get in your room again."

"You just have to follow the rules," his mom put in, much calmer about the whole thing than he was. "He sleeps on the couch, and that's that. If at any point Michael or I find out he's not on the couch, then he has to go home."

Tina pouted, but reluctantly, she agreed to that condition. "Fine," she mumbled, scooping up a spoonful of soggy cereal.

Michael shook his head, not convinced that they wouldn't try it again. Hell, if he was still a fifteen year old boy, that's what he would have done.

...

"So have you been a good boy this year?" Maria asked her son as she tucked him into bed that night.

"Um . . . I think so," he answered unsurely.

"You _think_ so?" She got a kick out of that. Dylan was the best son she ever could have hoped for. Although she did dread the day when she could no longer use presents from Santa as a motivation for good behavior. Hopefully he would believe for a long, long time.

"I'm nice at school," he told her.

"Just at school?" She tickled his sides.

He giggled and added, "Home, too."

"Yeah, you're pretty nice," she agreed. Next semester he'd be a part of that Circle of Friends for the new student in his grade, too. Hopefully he'd be nice to him. "I think you're gonna get lots of presents."

"Lots?" His whole eyes lit up with excitement.

"Yeah." She and Max had definitely gone a little overboard this year. "But you know, you have to be asleep if you wanna get any of them. Santa won't drop them off if you're still awake when he comes."

"Okay, I'm sleepin'," he declared, shutting his eyes. "Night, Mom."

"Goodnight," she said, kissing his cheek. "When you wake up, it'll be Christmas morning."

He smiled eagerly, and she knew he was going to have a _hard_ time falling asleep tonight. He always did. Last year, she and Max hadn't even been able to set out presents until 3:00 in the morning, because that was how long it had taken him to nod off.

When she left Dylan's room, she nearly ran into Diane as she was coming out of the bathroom. "Oh, sorry," she apologized.

"No, you're okay," Diane said. "I was just brushing my teeth, and I thought I'd call it in early tonight."

"Sounds like a plan," Maria said, feeling tired, too. "Thanks for coming."

"Oh, it's my pleasure," Diane said. "It's so nice that you and Max live close now."

"It is," she agreed, although being this close to her own mom was . . . sometimes trying.

"Goodnight," Diane said, giving her a quick hug. "See you in the morning."

"See you," Maria said, watching as she slipped into the guest bedroom. In the days leading up to Diane's arrival this morning, she'd tried to make it look as nice in there as she could by hanging a few cheap paintings on the walls and buying a new bedspread. But the room was pretty small, and pretty sparse. The only other person who had ever slept in it was Liz.

When she went back out to the living room, Max was pulling out the roll-out couch bed for Amy, who was munching away on the sugar cookies Dylan had set out for Santa.

"Maria, I think these needed more sugar," she remarked. "They're a little bland."

"I'm sure Santa doesn't care," she said, snatching one up. The moment she bit into it, though, she realized her mom was right. It wasn't good. She swallowed what was in her mouth and set what remained back down on the plate. "Max, do you wanna take these outside and dump 'em out?" she asked.

"That bad, huh?" He finished fluffing up the pillows, then came and got the plate and took it outside.

"You know, I don't understand why Diane gets the guest room and I get the couch bed," Maria's mother griped.

"Oh my god," Maria groaned exasperatedly. "Is it really that big of a deal?"

"I'm just saying . . ."

"Fine, you know what? Max and I can sleep on the couch bed. You can sleep in our room," Maria offered.

"No, I'm fine out here," Amy declared.

"But you just said-"

"Maria, I'm fine."

Maria rolled her eyes, completely annoyed. Sometimes, honestly, she swore her mom would complain about stuff just for the heck of it. It was like a bad habit that she just couldn't break.

Amy lay down on the bed, and against her better judgment, Maria lay down beside her. She didn't want a long mother/daughter talk or anything like that. She just wanted . . . maybe some insight, someone else's opinion. "So what do you think Max got me for Christmas?" she asked.

"I have no idea," her mother replied, right as Max came back inside. He headed straight down the hall, though, probably to change into his pajamas.

"What do you think he got you?" her mother asked.

"I don't know." She'd spotted a couple of wrapped presents in the closet, but they were just regular boxes and bags. Nothing . . . meaningful.

"Do you think maybe he . . ." Amy trailed off, tapping her own ring-less ring finger.

"No," Maria said quickly, although truthfully, she still wondered if maybe he had. "We haven't even talked about that yet."

Her mom sounded almost accusatory when she said, "Well, why not?"

"I don't know. We just . . . haven't." Her cell phone vibrated, interrupting the conversation, and she it out of her pocket and tilted it towards her face to see that she had a new text message. From Michael. It said, _tell dylan i said merry xmas._

She smiled, immediately thinking back to the one and only Christmas they'd all spent together. Even though they weren't spending this one together, it meant a lot that Michael still thought of Dylan.

"Interesting," her mom said tersely.

Maria covered the screen of her phone a second too late. She knew her mom had looked. "What?" she said innocently. "It's just a text."

"Why is he texting you?"

"Because . . ." _We're friends,_ she wanted to say. But her mom wouldn't understand that. "He still cares about Dylan."

"Is that all he cares about?" Amy questioned.

"Okay, just relax, Mom," Maria said, typing out a quick _i will_ in response to Michael. "Don't make a big deal out of nothing." She pressed the send button and quickly got up off the couch bed, figuring she wouldn't have to endure a lecture if she just walked away.

...

Michael put his phone down on the dusty desk next to his bed and crawled under the covers with Sarah. She snuggled up to him right away and moaned contentedly. "Mmm. You're so warm."

"Yeah, I'm pretty hot," he agreed boastfully, putting his arm around her.

"I can't believe tomorrow's Christmas morning," she said. "I used to have such a hard time falling asleep on Christmas Eve, 'cause I was just so excited about what Santa was gonna bring me."

"Oh, I always slept like a rock," Michael said. "But that's 'cause I knew Santa wasn't real."

"When did you figure it out?" she asked.

"Like, first grade."

"What?"

"Yeah, my dad just came right out and said, 'Santa's fake. Suck it up.'"

"Oh." She made a face. "That's not nice."

"Yeah, he told Tina the same thing when she was that age." What a bastard. Most dads were willing to let their kids believe for a while. "What about you?" he asked his girlfriend. "When did you find out?"

"I think I was in fourth grade," she remembered. "All of a sudden it just dawned on me that Santa wrapped things in the same wrapping paper my mom did, and his handwriting on all the gift tags looked just like hers."

"So a logical deduction. That's very you."

"Yeah, I figured it out. But Victor believed until he was, like, eleven, so I had to keep it a secret for a long time."

"Yeah." It didn't surprise him that Victor hadn't figured it out sooner. He was sort of sheltered, but there wasn't necessarily anything wrong with that.

"Mmm," she purred again, nuzzling her face against his chest. "This is nice."

"Mmm-hmm," he agreed, though he'd gladly go down and sleep on that couch if that meant Nicholas went home.

"I kinda like having you up here," she said. "Even though we can't _do_ anything with Tina down at one end of the hall and your mom down at the other."

The minute she said that, he thought back to being in that bed with Maria. Being on top of her, behind her, underneath her, _all_ over her. He remembered the feel of her fingers digging into his shoulders and the sight of her digging her head back into the pillow as she moaned. The location of this bedroom had never stopped them.

 _Oh god,_ he thought, sitting up suddenly. He had to get out of that bed.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, standing up. "I'm just kinda hungry. You want anything?"

"No, I'm good," she said.

"Alright, I'm gonna go get somethin'." He started for the door.

"I'll probably be asleep when you come back up," she told him, her voice quiet.

He stopped at the door, walked back to her, bent down, and kissed her forehead, whispering "Goodnight." And then he got out of there as fast as he could without looking suspicious.

Trundling downstairs, he tried to shake the memories from his mind, but they were just . . . they were just _back_. Like full force. It didn't matter how hard he tried to think of something else, because he always kept coming back to the memories.

 _Crap,_ he thought, pacing around the dark kitchen. This was why he'd felt strange about sleeping in that room again. He didn't want to lie next to Sarah and be thinking about Maria. That wasn't fair to her.

 _It's fine,_ he told himself. He was hardly the first guy to have thought about an ex-girlfriend, and this was definitely not the first time memories of sex with Maria had invaded his mind. He just had to stay down here for a while until they were all out of his head again. Then he could go back upstairs.

Suddenly, the light turned on, and Michael squinted against its brightness. Nicholas stood next to the switch in a t-shirt and sweatpants that were too big for him. He was a scrawny little son of a bitch, that was for sure.

"What do you want?" Michael growled.

"Nothin'," Nicholas said. "I just heard you get up and . . . I don't know, I was kinda hopin' I could talk to you."

"No," Michael grumbled, opening up the refrigerator. No beer in there anymore. Just wine coolers now. _Oh, well, better than nothing._ He popped one open with the help of a bottle opener and took a swig, hoping Nicholas would get the hint to go away. But the damn kid just kept standing there.

"Please?" Nicholas begged. "Look, I know, you don't like me . . ."

Michael snorted, nearly laughing. "Right about that."

"But I really like Tina. I _love_ her."

Michael shook his head and took another drink. God, this tasted like shit.

"I know I'm young," Nicholas went on, taking a seat on one of the stools at the counter, "but I know what love is. It's what I feel for Tina."

"Yeah, you think that now," Michael muttered skeptically.

"I don't have a lot of love in my life, you know?" Nicholas lamented. "My dad hates me. My mom likes drugs more than she likes me. But Tina loves me, and I love her."

Wine cooler in hand, Michael pulled out the stool on the other side of the counter and reluctantly sat down, face to face with this kid whom he constantly wanted to throttle. "Well, let's hope you still love her after your kid's born," he said. " 'cause that's when it's gonna get harder."

"I know that," Nicholas said. "And Tina knows, too. We—we know we made a mistake. She won't ever say that, but she knows."

Michael had to admit . . . that was news to him. "Really?" Tina had never really expressed those doubts to him.

"Oh, yeah." Nicholas sighed, slumping forward over the counter, his head in his hands. "I feel like I really screwed up."

"Well, you did." There was no sugarcoating it. Michael wasn't even going to try.

"And I know . . . you used to screw up a lot," Nicholas said slowly, quietly, almost as if he wasn't sure if he should mention it.

"What's your point?"

"Well . . . look at you now. You're in college, you're really smart. Your girlfriend's really pretty. I mean, _really_ pretty."

"Yeah, easy there, Crawford," Michael cautioned him.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly. "Sorry. I was just—I was just tryin' to say, even though you don't like me, I actually kinda think I'm a lot like you."

At first, Michael resented the comparison. But when he thought about it . . . fuck, it was pretty accurate.

Nicholas surprised the hell out of him, though, when he averted his eyes and mumbled, "I _hope_ I'm a lot like you."

Michael narrowed his eyes, studying this kid curiously. Was he just saying this stuff to try to get on his good side? It didn't seem like it. It actually seemed like he really meant it.

He could have taken another drink, but he slid the wine cooler aside instead. "Look, you just gotta tone it down with my sister," he said. "Don't go tryin' to sneak up into her room at night. Don't try to make out with her in front of me. I don't wanna see it."

"Okay," Nicholas said, nodding. "Yeah, I get that."

"And just . . . don't tell her you're gonna be there for her and this baby if you really don't plan on it." That was the most important thing to Michael. He didn't want Nicholas getting Tina's hopes up if was just going to bail on her. Like Max had bailed on Maria.

"No, I _am_ gonna be there," Nicholas insisted. "I promise. I'm gonna be a good dad."

"I hope you are," Michael told him sincerely. Probably the only way he would ever like Nicholas was if he _really_ stepped up to the parental plate.

"I'm gonna be," Nicholas said again. He sounded confident, but . . . of course he did right now. That baby wasn't born yet.

"It's not easy," Michael told him, thinking back to the bridge. "Trust me."

Nicholas swallowed hard and nodded. And finally, at long last . . . he just fell quiet.

Michael sat with him, similarly silent. But it was loud inside his head. Loud with the memory of watching Dylan fall backward into that water. Loud with the disappointment of failing to take care of him that night.

Great. Now he had more memories to clear out of his mind.


	40. Chapter 40

"Merry Christmas!" Liz exclaimed when Maria opened the door.

Maria's focus was immediately on Scarlet, who was wearing the cutest velvet red dress with white tights and black shoes. Liz had put a red flower headband in her hair, too, so she looked like one of those beauty pageant babies. "Oh my god, look at her. She's so cute," Maria raved.

"I know, I love dressing her up," Liz said as she came inside. "It's like dressing up a little doll."

"Aw." Maria squeezed Scarlet's soft little hands and said, "Hi, Scarlet."

The little girl gurgled out something that sounded like 'hi' in response.

"Oh, look who's here!" Diane called excitedly from the living room.

"Hi, Diane," Liz said, waving at her. She set Scarlet down and said, "Go see Grandma," and though Scarlet did waddle forward, she went straight to her daddy instead. Max picked her up and hugged her, surveyed what she was wearing, and immediately took off her headband.

"Put that back on," Liz told him. "It's festive."

Max didn't need to be told twice.

"Well, perfect timing," Maria told Liz as she took her coat from her. "We just started opening presents."

"Shoot, mine are out in the car," Liz said. "I'll go get 'em." She turned to head back out, but then she quickly swiveled back and said, "Oh, I hope you don't mind, but I invited Alex to swing by today, too."

"Oh." With all these guests, their kitchen table was going to be pretty crowded, but she figured they could squeeze in one more. "Yeah, that's fine. I think we'll have plenty of food." Both her mom and Diane had brought plenty to eat, which was great for Maria, because it meant she'd hardly have to cook anything.

"He's just been so down in the dumps these past couple weeks," Liz said. "I think he was planning on spending today with Leanna and her family, but . . . obviously that got shot to hell."

"Obviously."

"And his parents moved to Vermont last year, so it's not like he can just drive home. I felt so bad for him, 'cause when I asked him what he was gonna do today, he was like, 'Oh, I don't know, I'll probably just watch _Rudolph_ on repeat.'"

"Yeah, he needs to be around people," Maria agreed. _Rudolph_ was fine to watch once a year, but no more than that. "Oh . . ." She cringed, remembering that there was one other guest who hadn't shown up yet. "Does he know that Isabel's gonna be here?"

"No," Liz said, biting her bottom lip nervously.

Maria sighed. "Oh, well. Let's just hope it goes off without a hitch then."

Liz crossed her fingers hopefully.

...

Isabel listened to Christmas music on the drive from her place to Max's. She was totally in the holiday spirit, because Jesse's mom had given her a hand-knitted red and white sweater dress as a present. It wasn't ugly, though; it was actually well-made and cute, especially with the black leggings and boots she'd paired it with. Yes, she certainly looked Christmas-y, and she felt Christmas-y, too, so hopefully today would _be_ Christmas-y. The way it used to be.

There were four cars in the driveway and parked along the street in front of Max's house when she got there, and getting out of one of them was, much to her surprise, _Alex._ She parked quickly and got out as well. "Alex!" she called.

He spun to face her, looking similarly surprised. "What're you doin' here?" he asked.

She smiled, happy to see a semi-friendly face. "I was invited."

"So was I," he said.

Her heart started to speed up, because this day had just gotten a whole lot better. Her mom _and_ Alex on Christmas day? What an amazing opportunity to work on patching things up with two people she'd mistakenly alienated over the years.

She was about to just follow Alex inside when she remembered to get the gifts for Dylan, Max, and her mom out of the passenger's seat, as well as the cookies she'd made. They were just plain sugar cookies, but she'd spent hours decorating all of them, and they actually looked really professionally made.

When she went inside, the first thing she saw was that Liz was there. Which was sort of a bummer, because she and Alex were already hugging, and Scarlet was hugging his leg, and they all looked sort of . . . cozy. But when she turned her attention away from that, there was her mom, sitting next to Maria's mom on the couch. She had this stunned look on her face, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

She set the gift bags down on the floor and said, "Hi, everyone," smiling and waving. They all just sat there and stared, though. It was like they didn't know what to say to her. Of all people to speak up, it was finally Dylan who said, "Hi," and waved back before tearing the wrapping paper off of a box that was nearly his size. That at least got Max off his ass, and he approached her to give her a tentative hug.

"Thanks for coming," he said as quiet conversation resumed in the living room.

"Thanks for having me," she responded politely, although now that she was here . . . she felt sort of uncomfortable. "I made cookies."

He took the plate from her and said, "That's great. The ones we made turned out awful, so . . ."

"And these are for you and mom and Dylan," she said, picking up the gifts she'd brought.

He took them from her and said, "Nothing for Maria, huh?"

"No." She was in the Christmas spirit, sure, but she wasn't _that_ spirited.

"Well, thanks," he said. "I'll go put them under the tree."

She grabbed his arm before he could walk away. "Max," she said. "Why does Mom look so surprised to see me?"

"Because I didn't tell her you were coming," he said simply.

"You didn't?"

"No."

 _Why?_ she wondered, fearing she already knew. Her mom probably wouldn't have come if she'd known Isabel was going to be there. But whatever. She _was_ there, surrounded by family—and a former friend and a lifelong enemy—and whether anyone truly wanted her there or not, she was going to make the most of it.

...

Michael sat in a sea of wrapping paper that afternoon, trying to clean up the living room. They'd completely destroyed it in the midst of their unwrapping. There were bags, paper, ribbons, and bows everywhere. His mom had asked Tina and him to clean it up while she and Sarah went in the kitchen and did the cooking, but Tina wasn't helping him at all. She was lying on the couch, digging through her stocking for piece after piece of candy.

"A little help would be nice," he hinted, feeling as though he were making no progress.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

"Not disabled."

She rolled her eyes, set her stocking aside, and got down on the floor with him to help.

Michael glanced into the kitchen curiously, surprised that Nicholas seemed to be taking a big interest in this meal. He wasn't just standing around; he was actually helping Sarah make something.

"Does Nicholas cook?" he asked Tina.

"Not really," she said, balling up a pile of red wrapping paper, "but he's trying to learn before the baby comes." She tried to shoot the wrapping paper like a basketball into the trash bag, but she missed.

"You think he'll poison my food?" Michael joked.

"No. He doesn't hate you like you hate him."

"I don't hate him," Michael denied. "I just don't like him very much."

"Big difference," she muttered.

There was, though. Hate was something he reserved for a guy like Max, but his conversation with Nicholas last night had pushed him out of that same category.

"Oh my god," Tina gasped suddenly, holding one hand to her stomach.

"Are you okay?" he questioned.

She smiled. "Yeah, the baby's just kicking."

"Really?"

"Yeah, do you wanna feel?"

Did he? He wasn't sure, but he reached out his hand and placed it on her stomach anyway. It was subtle, but it was surreal. "Whoa," he said. It sort reminded him of popcorn.

"Isn't it crazy?" she said, awed. "He started kicking last week."

Michael slowly withdrew his hand and echoed, "He?" That was the first time he'd heard her refer to it with that pronoun.

"Yeah," she said softly, holding her stomach some more. "We went to the doctor last week, and they told us it was a boy."

 _A boy,_ Michael thought. _A son._ His little sister was having a son. Cheryl and Steve had a son. At this rate, Tess and Kyle were probably going to have a son, too.

"Wow," he said, picturing it. Next Christmas, there would be a little boy in that house who got the majority of the presents. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. That seemed like kind of big news.

She lowered her head and lowered her voice, mumbling, "I didn't think you'd wanna know."

He frowned, feeling of pang of guilt when she said that. Even though he wasn't thrilled about this pregnancy, he didn't want her to think that he'd bear any grudge against her child. His _nephew_. "I wanna know," he told her. When that baby was born, he wanted to be there. When he was baptized, had his first birthday . . . he wanted to be there for that stuff, too. He didn't want Tina to feel like she couldn't tell him about this stuff or let him be a part of it.

Instantly, it was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders, and she breathed a small sigh of relief. "Good," she whispered, almost as if she were grateful.

...

For the majority of the day, not many people really talked to Isabel, except for Max. He was like her safe spot. When her conversations with Liz or Alex started to lull, she could just go find her brother, and even if he didn't _want_ to spend time with her, he did. But their mother was another story. She barely said two words to Isabel, and she made it a point not to sit next to her at the table. Her attention, it seemed, was fixated on her grandkids and her son. But she spent plenty of time gabbing with Amy and Liz and Maria, too.

Finally, Isabel was able to get her alone when she went into the kitchen to grab some fudge. Isabel followed her, making sure to stand so that she was sort of blocking her from going back out to the living room. "Are we even gonna talk?" she asked outright.

"We've talked," her mom said, eyes focused on her plate as she arranged three pieces of fudge on it.

"You've barely even said hello to me," Isabel accused. "Look, I know Liz and Maria are like your new daughters now, but please try to remember that I'm your _actual_ daughter. And I'm here, Mom."

Her mother sighed, setting her plate down on the counter. "I am glad to see you," she said. "But it's hard for me to even be in the same room as you knowing that you're still . . ." She trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken.

"Max got high and kidnapped his own kid," Isabel reminded her. "Yet you forgave him."

"Because he's changed himself for the better."

Isabel grunted, frustrated with the way this conversation was going. "Mom, I know you don't like me very much anymore," she whimpered, "but can you at least still love me?"

"Oh, honey, I love you," her mother assured her. "I just don't respect you."

Isabel winced. That hurt. It wasn't surprising . . . but it hurt.

"I'm sorry," her mom apologized, picking her plate up again. She slipped past Isabel and returned to the living room with a big smile on her face and sat down next to Liz on the couch. The two of them started talking and laughing about something right away.

Isabel stood in the kitchen alone, wishing that Max would notice and call her over, or maybe come talk to her, or just do something to make her feel like less of an outsider. But he and Maria's mom were watching Dylan and Scarlet play together.

She wasn't alone in the kitchen for long, though, because Maria slipped away from the rest of the family and came to join her. "That sucks," she said sympathetically.

"What?"

"Knowing that your mom's disappointed in you. I get that."

Isabel groaned, seeing right through this little façade of friendliness. Maria was probably only being nice to make herself look better it front of both the grandmothers there today. "I'm not looking to bond with you, Maria," she said coldly.

"I was just trying to say that I understand."

"Well, I don't want your pity or your empathy or . . . anything," Isabel snapped.

"Sorry," Maria said. "I won't try to be nice to you then."

"Yeah, don't." They'd tried being nice once, back when she'd first moved in with Michael. And look where that had gotten them.

"You know, you don't have to be such a bitch," Maria told her.

"Me? I'm the bitch?" Isabel huffed, trying to keep her voice down. " _I'm_ the bitch, Maria? Take a look in the mirror. You are _not_ a good person."

"I may have made some mistakes . . ." Maria began to acknowledge.

"Mistakes? You've made mountains of mistakes, and the funny thing is, you never learn from them."

Maria's brow furrowed with hostility. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means I know you're working with Michael again. And taking another class with him next semester. Max told me," Isabel blurted out. "And if he's really okay with it, then he's an idiot, because you two are doing the _exact_ same thing you did three years ago."

"No, we're not," Maria vehemently. "We're-"

"Friends?" Isabel laughed at the absurdity of that claim. "Yeah. Right."

"You know what, Isabel?" Maria's voice was growing louder and louder, but no one in the living room was paying attention yet. "Max may have invited you here today, but I have no problem making you leave."

"Fine, then make me," Isabel challenged. It wasn't like anyone was interacting with her anyway. "But do me a favor: When you _do_ inevitably cheat on my brother, look back on this moment and picture me saying _I told you so._ "

"I'm not gonna cheat on him," Maria vowed. "I love him."

Isabel cocked her head to the side. "Is he the love of your life?"

And at that . . . Maria instantly fell silent. And silence said it all.

Isabel smirked. "Didn't think so." She grabbed what remained of the cookies she'd brought over, literally pushed past Maria, and stomped out the front door, fuming. What a merry Christmas this had been.

...

Whether it was by accident or on purpose, Michael found himself slouched on the living room couch that evening after Sarah had already gone to bed. The thought kept crossing his mind that he should take a shower and go get in bed with her, but it was like he just couldn't move. So he sat on the couch with Shango, petting him while he slept.

Three years ago, he'd sat in this same spot with Maria, shamelessly flirting with her even though he hadn't been completely aware of his feelings at time the time. He still remembered the moment like it was yesterday: setting that guitar down in her lap, seeing that look of wonder on her face when she realized it was the gift he was giving her for Christmas. He remembered the way her fingers had trembled the second before she'd strummed the chords, but from the moment she'd started singing, they'd stopped shaking.

He turned his head to the side, picturing her sitting there next to him, and he remembered hearing her sing for him the first time.

" _You take me in_

 _No questions asked_

 _You strip away the ugliness that surrounds me."_

"Michael?"

He jerked forward, unaware that he'd even fallen asleep. Just like that, it had happened.

Nicholas stood in front of him in his pajamas, a blanket in his hand, curious expression on his face. "I think I'm gonna go to sleep now," he said.

"Oh." Michael sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry," he said, getting up. He patted his leg, and Shango obediently jumped down off the couch, too.

"I didn't even try to go into Tina's room," Nicholas told him. "Not even once."

"Well, that's progress, I guess." Michael stretched, yawned, and slowly made his way to the stairs. Shango went up a few steps, then stopped and looked back at Michael when he realized he wasn't following.

He could see his bedroom door from here, open just slightly but dark inside. Sarah had been so tired tonight. For almost an hour now, she'd been in there by herself. Maybe she was waiting for him.

 _Go,_ his mind said. _Go up there._ But his feet did otherwise.

He went outside with his dog and sat down on the front porch steps. This was where he and Maria had been sitting the first time he'd ever told her he loved her.

God, it didn't matter where he went. The whole house was just soaked in memories.

He took out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts quickly until he found her name. His thumb hovered over the touchscreen uncertainly, hesitantly. But eventually he gave in and called her, not even sure what he wanted to say.

It rang. And it rang again. And again. By the fourth ring, he figured she wouldn't pick up, and he was about to end the whole damn call when he heard her voice. "Hello?"

"Hey." It felt good to hear her voice, and he wondered if it made her feel good to hear his.

"Hey," she returned. "Merry Christmas."

He smiled a bit. "Yeah." As far as Christmases went . . . he'd had worse. "How'd your day go?"

"Oh . . . it went," she said. "Isabel's gone now. But my mom and Max's mom are both staying another night."

Amy DeLuca _and_ Diane Evans? He shuddered at the thought. "They both hate me."

She laughed lightly. "Yeah, I think they do." She paused for a moment then, before asking, "So what's up?"

"Nothing," he said. "I just . . ." Even now that he was on the phone, he still wasn't sure why he'd even called in the first place. "I don't know."

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah." He switched his phone from hand to hand and reached down to scratch Shango behind the ears. "It's just . . . Roswell, you know. Same old, same old."

"Yeah," she said. "I bet it's weird to be back there."

Weird wasn't even the right word for it. He wasn't sure what the right word was. "I just feel like I'm a different person when I'm in Carlsbad," he said. "There, it's like, I got a job, and I'm in college. I'm good at college. And I have all these opportunities, and I'm actually makin' the most of them. 'cause I'm not so busy makin' mistakes." He sighed, feeling like he was just rambling on. But maybe he was making some sort of sense. "I don't know, I guess I just feel like I'm a better person there than I am here."

"I think you're the same person," she said softly.

He smiled appreciatively, but he really felt like he was split in half sometimes. And half of him was in Carlsbad, and half of him had never left Roswell. "This place . . ." he said. "It just brings back the past, you know?" There were a lot of painful, dark memories—his dad played a prominent role in those ones. But the memories of her . . . most of those were better.

"I know," she practically whispered. She didn't say anything else, but she didn't have to. He had a feeling that, regardless of where she was and where he was right now, they were both thinking about the same thing, both remembering that exactly three years ago tonight, she'd sung for him for the first time. And he'd fallen in love with her.

...

Just as she finished her phone call with Michael, Max came into the bedroom. "Hey," Maria said, setting her phone aside.

Thankfully, he didn't ask who she'd been talking to. "Hey," he returned, shutting the door.

"Well, we survived."

"Yeah. It actually went better than I thought it would." He took a seat next to her on the side of the bed and rubbed her shoulder. "I wish Isabel hadn't left like that, though."

She tensed momentarily, trying very hard to forget about the conversation that had led up to her departure. "I think she was just jealous that no one was really paying attention to her," she said, "so storming out was her way of _getting_ attention."

"Well . . ." Max lowered his hand and shrugged. "At least she came, I guess."

Maria nodded, though truthfully, selfishly . . . she wouldn't have minded if Isabel hadn't been there at all. She'd been a dark cloud in an otherwise sunny day.

"So did you like the gifts I got you?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah, I loved them." She'd asked for practical things, like a new jacket, and a new lamp. And a cookbook.

"Good," he said, "because sometimes I'm not so great when it comes to shopping."

"No, you did a good job," she assured him. "I loved everything."

"Good," he said again. Then he just stared at her for a few seconds, awkwardly, as though he were trying to say something else. When he finally did, he stuttered. "I-I actually have one more—one more gift to give you."

"Oh?" _Oh god._

"Yeah. I'm kinda nervous about it."

 _Oh god, oh god._ She was nervous, too. This _sounded_ like . . .

And it _looked_ like that, too, when he got up and crossed the room to the dresser. He opened the top drawer, which was his sock and underwear drawer, dug around for a moment, and then took out a small grey box.

Her heart started to pound with trepidation. This was it. The something meaningful. Michael had predicted it all along.

She must have looked panicked, because he said, "Don't freak out, okay?" and set the box down on her lap. "It's not what you think it is."

She gave him a confused look as he sat down next to her again. The box was small. There were only so many things it could be. _Earrings?_ she wondered. Maybe it was just earrings.

Trying to keep her fingers from shaking, she slowly opened the box, and what she saw inside literally made her gasp in astonishment.

It _was_ a ring. But it wasn't just any ring. It was the same small, circular ring she'd worn on her finger years ago. The one that had fallen down the sink. She recognized it instantly.

"This is . . ." She lifted the ring out of the box, struggling to form words. "This is just like the engagement ring Michael gave me."

"It's not _like_ that ring, Maria," Max corrected. "It _is_ that ring."

Her hand shook so much, she nearly dropped it. "What?" she choked out. How could that be? "But I lost it."

"No, you didn't."

She frowned, turning the ring around in her hands. It _did_ look like the exact same fit, but she didn't want to put it on. "I don't understand," she said. "How did you find this?" It wasn't as if she'd just misplaced it; the thing had fallen down a _drain_. Lost for all time. Or so she'd thought.

"Do you remember the night you lost it?" he asked. "I came over, and we argued. You told me I'd never be a part of Dylan's life, and I was pissed."

What did that have to do with anything? She still didn't understand.

Swallowing hard, he looked down at his lap and revealed, "I took your ring."

She stared at him sharply, trying to process all of this. "What?"

"You were in the shower," he recalled, his head still hanging shamefully, "and you thought I left. But I didn't. I swiped your ring right off the counter of the sink, and I didn't even think twice about it."

She ran her thumb over the small diamond, stunned by what she was hearing. "So you've had this the whole time?"

"No." He hesitated a moment, then finally lifted his head to look her in the eye. "I sold it, and I used the money I made off of it to buy drugs. The same drugs I used the night I drove Dylan out to that bridge."

She shuddered, wanting to cry. Never in a million years had she imagined that it was _her_ ring that had funded Max's relapse. If he hadn't taken it, then maybe that whole night never would have happened. Maybe _everything_ would have been different.

"I never told you because I was so ashamed," he said, sounding on the verge of tears. "And I wanted to make it right, or at least try to, so I tracked the ring down, and I bought it back for you."

Gazing down at the diamond, a few tears fell over onto her cheeks. This whole thing . . . it was such a blast from the past, and it shocked the hell out of her. "I don't know what to say," she admitted. Part of her was horrified that he'd done such a thing. Part of her was proud of him for owning up to it. And another part of her couldn't stop thinking about when Michael had given her that ring in the first place.

"You don't have to say anything," he told her. "I know it's sort of an unusual Christmas present."

 _Unusual?_ That didn't even begin to describe it.

"I just . . . I've had a lot of guilt about this for a long time now," he said, "and I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

She knew he was sorry, that he really, truly felt bad about what he'd done. The Max Evans who had stolen this ring from her and the Max Evans sitting beside her right now were two very different people. It was like he was . . .

. . . split in half.

Unable to say anything, she put the ring back in the box and kept staring at it through tear-filled eyes. He seemed to sense that she might need a moment alone, because he got up and left the room. And when it was just her and that diamond, she let herself cry a little harder. Not because she was mad at him. But because it made her remember.


	41. Chapter 41

Even though it was cold out, Sarah insisted that she and Michael go for a walk around Roswell. He had no desire to do so, because to him it was just the same town he'd grown up in for eighteen long years; but he walked with her anyway, hand in hand.

"Come on, give me the tour," she urged.

"The tour of what? It's Roswell. There's nothing to see."

"It's a _tourist destination,_ Michael," she pointed out.

"More like a tourist trap."

"Come on," she urged again.

He sighed, reluctantly giving in. "Okay, fine, you see that intersection up there? That's where I saw an alien."

"Ha, ha, very funny," she said sarcastically. "Seriously, I want the real stuff."

The real stuff . . . wasn't always pretty. "Fine. See that tree line way over there?" he pointed out in the distance. "That's part of Frazier Woods. I used to go there and party and get drunk a lot."

"Fascinating," she said. "What else?"

He pointed to the dumpster next to E.T.'s Pizzeria. "I puked behind that building once. And this bar comin' up here? They actually fell for my fake ID, and I got so wasted I danced on the pool table. Like full-on _Coyote Ugly_ style." As popular as he'd been, he had barely lived that one down.

"Surely you have _some_ memories that aren't tied to alcohol, don't you?" she said.

Well . . . there were a few. But they weren't nearly as funny. He stopped walking, grabbed her shoulders, and spun her to her right. "See that building back there?" he said. It was partially hidden by overgrown trees. "That's my old high school, East." The sign out front was missing a few letters, so instead of saying _Home of the Rockets,_ it said, _Ho of the Rock._

"So what happened to it again?" she asked.

"It flooded, ceilings caved in. So my senior year, we went to West, and they never reopened it." Now it was just a condemned eyesore.

"That's too bad," she said.

"No, not really. West was better." If he'd stayed at East, he probably wouldn't have graduated. Although if he'd stayed at East, he and Isabel might never have gotten back together, and that would have spared her some personal drama in the long run.

"Where's the Crashdown?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, it's . . . up here a ways," he answered vaguely.

"I wanna eat there," she said. "It sounds so cute."

"It's not. It's just a fast food place."

"Let's go," she begged. "Please?"

 _Oh, shit, he did_ not _wanna go there._ "I'm not really hungry," he lied.

"We could just split something," she said, grabbing his hand. "Come on."

Reluctantly, he let her pull him forward down the sidewalk, because he couldn't think of a way out of this. If Sarah wanted to eat there, they'd eat there. The girl knew how to get her way.

A wave of nostalgia hit him from the moment she dragged him inside. This place . . . it definitely symbolized something to him. It had been a place of firsts for him and Maria. First time he'd met her, kissed her, even had sex with her . . . it had all been right there.

Luckily a family was sitting in his old usual booth, though, so he and Sarah sat down at a table instead. Grumpy, slow-moving Agnes was going to be their waitress.

...

Standing in the doorway, Maria watched as Max helped his mother load her gifts into her fancy car and said goodbye to her. They were definitely closer than Maria was with her mom, but she supposed that was a good thing. The more love Max had in his life, the better.

Shivering, she closed the door and cast a quick glance at Dylan. He was sitting at the kitchen table, still finishing his breakfast, so she let him be and made her way down the hallway into the bathroom. Once in there, she flipped on the light, momentarily squinting at its brightness and looked at herself in the mirror. There were tired bags under her eyes, because she'd tossed and turned all night.

She pulled open the top right drawer of the sink counter, which was mostly reserved for her things: toothbrushes, white strips, makeup, birth control pill. And now that small grey box with the small pretty ring inside. She'd just stashed it there last night because she wasn't sure where else to put it.

She took the box out, opened it up, and took the ring out. Just seeing it made a lump form in the back of her throat.

 _What am I supposed to do with this?_ she pondered. It was a beautiful ring, and it hadn't been damaged at all over the years. It still looked the same as it had the last time she'd worn it.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to dissolve into the past. She pictured herself back in Michael's bedroom, staring at him in disbelief as he asked, _"Will you marry me?"_ And after she'd said yes, he'd slid that ring onto her finger, and it had been a perfect fit.

Against her better judgment, she opened her eyes again and slowly put the ring back on, just to see if it still fit so perfectly. And it did.

 _Why am I doing this?_ she asked herself. She needed to take it off.

She left it on.

"Hey, Maria?"

She jerked her left hand backward and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans just as Max peeked into the bathroom.

"Hey do you know where Dylan's snow suit is?" he asked her. "He wants to go play outside."

Trying to look casual as she stood there, she said, "Um, it's probably at the bottom of that big box in the coat closet." She wasn't sure why Max wanted him to wear it when there was only a thin layer of snow on the ground, though.

"Okay," he said, his eyes surveying her up and down for a moment. "You alright?"

 _I must not look casual,_ she realized. But she couldn't very well take that hand out of her pocket and let him see the ring on it. "Yeah," she said, offering up a small smile.

He nodded, seemingly convinced, and then left the bathroom.

She breathed a sigh of relief and took her hand out of her pocket. She kept the ring on for a few more seconds, just gazing down at it reminiscently. But enough was enough. She never should have put it back on in the first place.

She yanked the ring off her finger, put it back in the box, and tossed the box back into the drawer, slamming it shut.

...

The holiday basketball tournament took place the day before New Year's Eve, and in the days leading up to it, Maria dreaded it. Max said it was going to be one of those all day things, because there were five other schools coming to Pound Elementary to play. And from the second the first game got underway, Maria knew he was right. It _was_ going to take all day.

"Come on, Dylan!" she yelled supportively from the stands. Scarlet, who was crawling on the bleachers, saw her clapping and then did the same, even though she didn't know what she was clapping for.

"How cute," Liz said. "She's cheering him on."

"Maybe she'll be a cheerleader," Maria speculated.

Liz gave her a stern look. "Or not."

Maria laughed. Neither she nor Liz was the cheerleader type.

Returning her attention back to the game, she saw that Max was clearly getting agitated on the sideline. The refs were making a lot of calls that weren't in the Bulldogs' favor, and the score reflected the team's complete . . . ineptitude. It was the second half already, and they only had seven points. Five of them had come from Luke, and the other two had been scored by a kid on the other team shooting into the wrong basket. The other team only had eleven points, though, so they weren't doing much better.

"This is gonna take forever," Liz groaned.

"You don't have to stay," Maria told her. "You've _more_ than done your best friend duty if you make it through this game."

"No, I'll stay," Liz said. She reached into her purse, took out her cell phone when it chimed, and read through a text she'd just received. "Oh, it's from Sarah," she said. "She and Michael are having a New Year's party tomorrow night. She says I'm invited."

"Oh." Maria immediately looked down at her own phone. Nothing. Was Sarah finally fed up with her?

Apparently not, because a few seconds later, she received the same text message. "Looks like Max and I are invited, too."

"She says it's at Monk's house," Liz read. "Who's Monk?"

"One of Michael's friends." Maria sent a quick text back, asking for the address. "Do you think you're gonna go?"

"To this party?" Liz shrugged. "Maybe. I wasn't planning on staying home."

"Are you gonna bring Alex with you?" Maria hinted.

"Probably not. I think he just wants to stay home. In fact, he said he'd watch Scarlet if I went out."

Maria sighed. " _Liz._ "

"What, Maria?"

"You need to get on this. Alex is single again, and you're single, too, and I think you're just delaying the inevitable here."

"He's not even divorced yet," Liz pointed out. "And even if he was . . . I just don't think there's anything romantic there."

"But you love him," Maria pointed out. "I doubt it would be a far stretch to fall _in love_ with him."

"No, I think if I was falling in love with him, I'd have realized it by now," Liz disagreed. "That's not the kind of thing you can just decide is going to happen. You're either in love with someone or you're not, and I'm just not in love with Alex."

As much as Maria wanted to keep trying to persuade her otherwise . . . she had a point. Love couldn't be forced. At least not _that_ kind of love. But still . . . Alex was a really nice guy. "Are you sure?" she questioned. "I'm not trying to be pushy, I swear; I just don't want you to miss your shot with him."

"I'm not missing any shot," Liz declared confidently. She looked back out onto the court again and cringed. "Ooh, but I think Dylan's about to."

Maria watched as her son shot the ball from well beyond the three point line. The aim was off, and it fell far short.

Max clenched his fist and brought it up to his mouth to keep from saying anything for a moment. When he did say something again, it was directed to the whole team. "Hustle up, back on defense now." As they ran down to the other side of the court, he shook his head in disappointment.

 _It's okay, Dylan,_ Maria thought. He was trying his best, but it just didn't seem like basketball was going to be his sport. She knew it would be hard for Max to accept that, but he would have to.

...

"Thanks for stopping by, Michael."

"Yeah, no problem." It was his last day in Roswell. He figured he should go see Kyle's dad before he left. That man had been a better father to him growing up than his own dad had been.

"And listen, I'm glad to hear Kyle's making progress," Jim went on as he walked Michael towards the door, "but if he slips up or backtracks in any way, don't hesitate to let me know."

"I won't."

Jim smiled appreciatively. "He's lucky to have a friend like you."

Michael chuckled, recalling the nights when Kyle had had to lug him home after too much drinking, or the days when he'd had to force him into the weight room after school. "Well, I'm lucky to have a friend like him, too." If Kyle hadn't helped get him through high school . . . who the hell knew where he'd be right now.

"Good to see you," Jim said again, giving him a handshake.

"Yeah," Michael agreed, rerouting the conversation to something lighthearted before he left. "Hey, just outta curiosity, do you think being a grandpa's gonna damage your pimp cred at all?"

"My _pimp cred_?" Jim echoed.

"Yeah. I mean, you were like my _idol_ growin' up. The way you constantly had this rotating circle of chicks in your life . . . it was amazing."

"Well, I'm getting older," Jim acknowledged, "so I think I'm getting ready to settle down now."

"Really?" That was surprising. Michael had always pictured Kyle's dad as a lifelong bachelor. "With who?"

"Who knows?" Jim said. "Maybe Amy DeLuca."

Michael snorted. "Amy DeLuca?" Oh, yeah, that sounded like a picnic.

"We're back together again," Jim informed him. "Actually, she's on her way over here right now."

Michael froze in horror. "What?"

"Yeah, she should be here any minute."

 _Oh, fuck._ He couldn't be there when she showed up. That'd be a disaster. "Gotta go," he said, sprinting out the door. He didn't even make it to his car, though, when he saw the worst thing ever: There she was, Amy DeLuca, pulling into the driveway, right behind his car, blocking him in.

 _I'm trapped,_ he thought, panicked. There was no escape. Unless he just made a run for it, which he was seriously contemplating.

Amy didn't look particularly pleased to see him, either. After she shut off her car, she just sat behind the steering wheel for a few seconds, glaring at him through the windshield. When she did get out, all she said was, "Michael," and it radiated hostility.

"Amy," he returned equally coldly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. No, not _asked_. More like _demanded._

"I'm on Christmas break," he explained. "Thought I'd stop by and see Jim." Although if he'd known he was going to run into her while he was over here, he would have skipped this whole thing altogether.

"How long are you gonna be in town?" she asked, slowly walking towards him.

"Leavin' tomorrow."

"Hmm." She looked him up and down, as if she were inspecting him. She'd _always_ looked at him like that, like he was an insect she wanted to squash so badly. "Well, I'm glad I ran into you, actually."

"Wish I could say the same," he muttered quietly.

"I've been meaning to confront you about this . . . re-emerging relationship you and my daughter seem to have."

"Relationship?" He bristled. "We're friends."

"That's what she told me, but I'm just having a hard time believing it."

He grunted. Of course. Of course she was.

"I don't remember a time when the two of you were ever _just_ friends," she snapped.

"We were."

"No, you weren't," she argued. "I think whether you realized it or not, you fell madly in love with each other, and then you fell into bed a whole bunch of times, and then my grandson fell off a bridge."

"And I jumped in after him," he made sure to remind her.

"Oh, that's right. You're a hero," she remarked sarcastically. "Although you are the reason he fell in the first place, so . . ."

"Yeah, Max is part of that reason, too," he pointed out quickly. Hell, he'd own up to his own mistakes if people at least started to hold Max accountable for his role in the whole thing.

"But he's a much different person now than he was back then," Amy said.

"So am I."

It was like she didn't even hear him, or want to. "He's a good man and a good father, and he and Maria are building a nice life together. I'd hate to see you ruin that."

"What the-" He threw his hands up in the air. This damn woman. She was _so_ determined to make him out to be the villain no matter what. "I'm not fucking ruining anything! And for your information, I've got my own life. I've got a job, got a girlfriend."

"Yes, I seem to recall you had a girlfriend last time, too."

"This is different!" he roared.

"Oh, is it now?"

"Yeah, I've been with her for two years, and I'm in love with her, and I'm probably gonna spend the rest of my life with her."

"Probably?" she noted.

"Yeah." Dammit, this was pissing him off.

"Well, I hope so, Michael," she said. "You've certainly broken enough hearts already. You really don't need to add more to that total."

He grunted and shook his head, growling out angrily, "Fuck you, Amy."

"Excuse me?"

"No, you know what? Just move your fucking car so I can fucking leave."

"Gladly." She stomped back to her car, got in, and backed it up out onto the street.

 _Fucking bitch,_ Michael thought as he climbed in his car and floored it out of the driveway. He couldn't get out of there fast enough.

The whole drive home, he was fuming. It was people like Amy DeLuca who made Roswell miserable for him. She didn't know anything about him anymore, about who he was or where his life was going, yet she just _assumed_ he was going to cheat on Sarah? No. No way.

She didn't know what the hell she was talking about.

...

Maria sat up in bed that night, playing Trivia Crack on her phone. She had three games going—one against Liz, one against Alex, and one against Max's mom—and she was losing all three of them. If there were more questions about music, maybe she'd stand a chance at winning, but she kept getting these damn science questions, which Liz especially was good at.

When Max staggered in, shirtless and in sweatpants, he looked haggard. "I'm so tired," he groaned, barely making it to the bed before he just flopped down. "Today was a long day."

"It was," she agreed, mentally kicking herself when she got the answer to an entertainment question wrong. "They played better in the second game, though."

"Still not good enough." He yawned and pulled the covers up under his arms.

"At least Dylan ended up making a basket, though," she pointed out. He and Luke were the _only_ kids on their team who had scored.

"He just doesn't like it," Max bemoaned. "None of 'em do. It's like Michael brainwashed all of 'em into thinking football's the only cool sport."

Clearly this conversation was taking a turn, so Maria set her phone aside. "Max."

"What?"

"Are you jealous?"

He exhaled heavily. "Maybe a little. No, not—I don't know. Not jealous. That's not the right word."

"Then what is?" Obviously he was upset, and he wouldn't feel any better until he talked about it.

"I think I'm just . . . regretful," he said contemplatively. "Because I know Michael had Dylan throwin' a football around before he was even three years old, and maybe if I'd been around . . . well, maybe I could've had him shooting hoops."

"It's just a game, Max," she reminded him. He didn't need to dwell on it. Certain people were just more inclined to certain sports. And other people, like her, had no sports talent whatsoever. So at least Dylan had inherited Max's athleticism.

"I know," he said. "Hey, we'll just have to see how baseball goes this summer. Maybe that'll be his best sport."

"Maybe," she agreed, appreciating that he could at least be a little light-hearted about it.

"We just gotta win some games," he said. "And I gotta try to make it fun for them."

"You will." If he didn't take it so seriously, then the kids would loosen up out on the court. They'd win a game or two, and Dylan would score some more points. And even if it wasn't his favorite sport, it wouldn't be something he hated doing, either.

"Anyway . . . time to go to bed," he decided, reaching over to turn out the light.

"Wait a minute."

He reached back over and turned it on again. "What?"

"Well, I was kinda thinking that we should figure out what our plans are for tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?" he echoed.

"Yeah. New Year's Eve."

"Oh, right." He rubbed his forehead, right in between his eyebrows as though he had a headache. "I don't know, I was kinda thinking we just might stay in."

"Really?" That was what they'd done last year.

"Well, yeah, we don't have a babysitter lined up for Dylan."

"Alex is watching Scarlet," she told him. "Maybe he'd watch Dylan, too."

"Maybe," Max said. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Well . . . Sarah kind of invited us to this party she and Michael are having tomorrow night," she replied, making sure to add, "And Liz, too." For some reason, it always felt better with Liz there. Strength in numbers, perhaps.

"So she's goin'?" Max asked.

"I think so."

"And you wanna go, too?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind," she said casually. "I mean, we're young. We shouldn't be cooped up on New Year's."

"I know," he said, "but I'm so tired, and my throat's startin' to hurt. I think I'm comin' down with something."

"Oh." Well, if he was getting sick, then he shouldn't be going anywhere. "Okay. Yeah, we'll just stay home then."

"No, if you wanna go, you should go," he said. "You and Liz . . . girl's night or whatever."

"Yeah, but . . ." New Year's wasn't exactly _girl's night_ for anyone. It was a romantic holiday, what with the midnight kiss and everything. "I don't just wanna leave you here."

"How about we just see what we feel like doing tomorrow, huh?" he suggested. "Sound good?"

"Yeah," she said as he turned out the light again, obviously longing to get to sleep. But the problem with that was that she already knew what she felt like doing. She wanted to go.

...

Michael was so happy to leave Roswell. Being back in Carlsbad was like breathing fresh air again. Plus, his New Year's party was going to kick ass. He was looking forward to it.

Since the dorms weren't open again until tomorrow, they had to go off campus to host the party. But it worked out, because it was easier to have alcohol off campus, and Monk was fine with it. He rented his house, which he lived in alone, and it was a good space. People would show up.

"Is it even legal to shoot fireworks this time of year?" Sarah asked him while he tested out some bottle rockets in Monk's driveway.

"Guess we'll find out." He took a few steps back and told her to plug her ears, because she hated the high-pitched sound this particular firecracker made. She did so right as it whistled up into the air.

"Where'd you get 'em?" she asked.

"I know a guy."

"How much did they cost?"

"You don't wanna know." Ever since he could remember, he'd loved blowing stuff up. But fireworks didn't _just_ have to be reserved for the Fourth of July. They worked for New Year's, too.

"Do you have any colorful ones?" she inquired.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna wait until it's darker to shoot 'em off." He had a few more bottle rockets to keep himself occupied until then.

"I like fountains," she said. "Did you get any of those?"

"Just for you."

"Aw . . ." She stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

The front door opened, and Monk came outside for the first time in hours. "Alright, I'm heading out," he announced.

"What? You're leaving?" Sarah said.

"Yeah, I don't really party."

Well, that went without saying, but he was still technically _hosting_ the party. "But Monk, it's your house," Michael pointed out.

"I trust you guys," he said. "Besides, you know how awkward I get when things get crowded. And then I get even more awkward when things get awkward."

"Yeah, you're just awkward in general," Michael agreed. "Well, if you're sure you wanna go . . ."

"I'm sure," Monk said. "I'm gonna go hang out with my gaming community tonight."

That sounded . . . awful to Michael, but to Monk, it was probably the perfect way to ring in the new year. "Alright, well . . . have fun, man."

"We won't let things get too crazy around here," Sarah assured him. "Bye, Monk." She gave him a quick hug, but he didn't really hug her back. He just held his hands out to the sides stiffly, and his eyes got really wide, as if he wasn't used to having a girl hug him.

"Bye," he said, quickly scampering down the sidewalk.

"He's so weird," Sarah said. "But nice."

"Yeah," Michael agreed, flicking the lighter on and off. He was just itching to set off a few more fireworks before people started showing up.

"Hey, so guess what?" she chirped. "Tess said she and Kyle are coming."

"Oh, good." Then this would be the first New Year's in a long time that they hadn't sat at home and watched the ball drop on TV.

"Yeah, hopefully it goes better than their last date," she said.

"Well, Tess needs to get her head out of her ass and realize how hard Kyle's trying," Michael said.

"Or . . . Kyle needs to realize how far he's alienated Tess and that it might take a long time to earn her trust back."

"How long, huh?"

She sighed. "Hopefully just a few more months."

"Yeah, really." Soon enough, they'd _have_ to be more united, because they'd have a baby to take care of. Probably a son.

...

While she was putting on makeup, Maria heard Max blowing his nose. Not a good sign. His prediction that he was getting sick was definitely turning out to be true. He wouldn't be up to going anywhere tonight.

 _But I still wanna go,_ she thought, feeling bad for being so selfish. She hadn't seen Michael in days, though, and she wanted to. She had something to give him.

"Max?" she said quietly as she went out into the living room. "You sound miserable."

"I am," he said, sneezing into the crook of his arm. "I think I've just been burning the candle at both ends between work and coaching."

"Well, you've got a cold. Of course you feel tired."

"Yeah, I can't go anywhere tonight. I'm sorry," he said.

"That's okay." She didn't know how to ask him if it was fine for her to still go, though. She knew she didn't need his permission, but it would be nice to know that he wouldn't be upset if she left.

"I think Dylan and I are both gonna fall asleep early tonight," he said.

"Is he getting sick, too?"

"No, he's just still tired from the tournament yesterday." His face wrinkled as he sneezed again.

"Well, I should . . . I should probably stay home and take care of you guys," Maria said.

"We'll be fine," he assured her. "You go with Liz. Have a good time."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"Because I can stay . . ." she offered halfheartedly.

"Maria. Just go. Have fun. Tell Sarah I'm sorry I couldn't come."

"Okay," she said, downplaying her excitement. She really did wish he could have gone with her. "I'll be home in time to kiss you at midnight," she promised.

"Alright, sounds like a plan."

She nodded. Yes, it did.

Liz offered to swing by and pick her up, but they had to drive separately since Maria planned on leaving earlier. They arrived around the same time, though, at the address Sarah had texted them, and the party was already in full swing. There were so many cars parked along the street that they had to park a few blocks away. Music was playing from inside the house, but a lot of people were outside in the driveway, shooting off fireworks. Right as Maria got out of the car, a huge colored flair crackled high above them in the air. Blue and yellow. West Roswell colors.

"This looks fun," Liz remarked.

Of course it did. No party Michael threw would be boring.

"Let's find, Sarah," Liz suggested, motioning for Maria to follow her up the driveway.

"Okay." Maria didn't want to be attached to either Liz _or_ Sarah the whole night, though. She needed a moment alone with Michael.

Right now, though, that would be impossible, because he was surrounded by people. He and his friend Fly both had lighters in their hands, so apparently they were the ones setting off the fireworks.

She caught his eye and waved subtly, and he gave her a head nod in response. That was nonverbal Michael code for _Hey._ Fly, on the other hand, was _very_ verbal. "Maria, Maria!" he sang out in his best Santana impersonation voice. "Hey, girl! _Caliente_!"

Maria laughed at him, shaking her head. He was a horn-dog, but not in a Ryan Adderman way.

"Do you know him?" Liz asked.

"Yeah, that's Fly. He's Michael's friend."

"Do you know all of Michael's friends?"

"I've met a few of them a few times." She looked back over her shoulder, at the group surrounding Michael as she and Liz went in the house. Just like high school, he was the center of attention. Everyone was drawn to him. It was impossible not to be.

There was much less activity going on inside, but there were a few people dancing, eating, making out on the couch, or plastering themselves to the keg. Sarah was standing at the window, though, talking to a girl Maria didn't recognize.

"Hey, Sarah!" Liz chirped, practically skipping towards her.

"Hey!" Sarah exclaimed, immediately halting her conversation to give Liz a hug. "I'm so glad you guys could come." She gave Maria a hug, too, and then quickly introduced all of them. "Oh, this is my friend Cheryl. Cheryl this is Maria and Liz."

"Hi," Cheryl said.

"Nice to meet you," Liz said.

"You, too."

"Cheryl is married to Steve, one of Michael's really good friends," Sarah explained.

"Steve." Maria tried to match a face with that name, but she couldn't. "I don't think I've met him."

"Oh, he's been pretty sequestered lately," Cheryl said. "We just had a baby a month and a half ago."

"Oh, wow, congratulations," Liz said.

"Thanks."

"That's amazing," Maria said, noting the woman's petite figure. "You look great."

"Oh, I still need to lose a couple pounds," Cheryl said, holding one hand to her stomach.

"Oh, please," Sarah scoffed. "If I look half as good as you do after I have a baby, I'll be thrilled."

 _You'll probably look amazing,_ Maria thought. _You'll have one of those perfect basketball-shaped tummies, and you'll lose the weight in two seconds flat._

"So where's Max?" Sarah inquired.

"Oh, he couldn't come," Maria told her. "He's getting a cold."

"Oh, that's too bad."

"Yeah." Truthfully, though, as horrible as it sounded . . . tonight might actually be a little bit easier without him. Sometimes it was hard for her to act natural when he and Michael were in the same place at once.

"There's a lot of stuff going around," Cheryl said. "Steve wasn't feeling all that great, either, but he was determined not to miss this tonight. This is, like, our first night out since Nathan was born."

"Then you needed this," Sarah said.

"Yeah, you can't devote your _entire_ life to parenting," Liz agreed. "I learned that early on. I love my daughter more than anything, but I need to go outside sometimes and just have fun and feel young and free, you know?"

"Definitely," Cheryl agreed.

Maria started to drift off from their conversation, even though, as the most experienced mother of the bunch, she certainly could have taken part in it. While the three of them talked, she pretended to listen while inconspicuously looking out the window at the people—mostly guys—in the driveway. Michael was drinking with them, but he didn't look wasted. He just looked . . . lively. He was laughing at things they said, and they were laughing at things he said, and the only thing that diverted their attention was another firework going off in the sky. Maria couldn't see the colors from inside, but she saw the light, saw the way it illuminated Michael's whole face. For a split second, he looked so young, almost like a boy. But when the firework's light faded and his conversation picked back up, he looked like a man again.

She tried to look away . . . but she just couldn't.


	42. Chapter 42

"God, I feel uncomfortable," Tess groaned as she and Kyle neared the house.

"It's just a party," he said, trying to keep up with her pace. This had been a hell of a walk for him. "I know we haven't been to one for a while, but . . ."

"No, _physically_ uncomfortable," she clarified, "not socially."

"Oh." _Duh._ He felt like an idiot.

"My pants are way too tight," she said, tugging on the belt loops of her jeans.

"Start wearing maternity pant then," he suggested.

"Already? I'm not even that far along."

"No, but . . ." He stopped himself before saying something that would piss her off. It seemed to him that Tess was starting to gain a lot of weight pretty quickly, and while it didn't bother him at all, clearly she was unhappy about it. "I think you look beautiful," he told her, reaching down to grab her hand.

"You're just saying that," she mumbled, sliding her hand out from his.

"No, I'm not." He grabbed her hand again, determined to get closer to her tonight. Physically speaking. It didn't need to be sex, or even a kiss. Hand-holding was a start. Especially since she didn't pull away from him this time.

...

"I need another drink," Michael declared, passing his lighter off to the guy who sat next to him in Social Psychology. "Fly, you're on firework duty."

"Got it, _chico_ ," Fly said. "Watch out, mothafuckers! Boom goes the dynamite!"

Michael headed back inside, taking a second to appreciate the two hot girls who were making out on the couch. They were blonde like Isabel and Courtney, but they weren't Isabel and Courtney. So it was hot.

"There's my boyfriend," Sarah said, motioning him over to the window where she, Cheryl, Liz, and Maria were gathered.

He dropped his empty cup into the trash can and sauntered towards her. "Hey, baby," he said, wrapping one arm around her waist. He pulled her against his side and kissed her head. "Havin' fun?"

"Yeah, lots of fun," she said. "We're having girl talk."

"Ugh." He cringed.

"We're talking about babies," Cheryl elaborated.

"Oh, really?" He looked down at his girlfriend and teased, "Can't imagine you have a whole lot to offer to that convo."

"Hey, I'm learning," she said. "I'm getting all sorts of good advice, so when it does happen someday, I'll be prepared."

He laughed nervously, casting a quick glance at Maria. She was looking at the floor. It seemed like she didn't quite want to be there.

"No Max?" he asked her.

She lifted her head and said, "No. He's sick."

 _Damn right he is,_ Michael thought, fighting the urge to grin. Oh, it served the bastard right to not be with Maria on New Year's. And hey, maybe it was a good sign. They said the way you spent New Year's Eve was the way you spent the rest of the year, after all.

"Well, I just came in to get another drink," he said, loosening his arm around Sarah.

"Are you gonna shoot off more fountains?" she asked him.

"Yeah, later. Fly wants to set off the loud ones, though."

"Those big boomers?" Sarah made a face. "Why? They're so loud."

"Yeah." That was why they were cool.

"Well, I'll stay in here until you're done with those," she said.

"Yeah, I hate those," Cheryl agreed. "Or the ones that are just one big flash."

"I know," Liz added. "It's, like, what's the point?"

 _What are they talking about?_ Michael wondered. Every single firework on the planet was awesome as long as it exploded in some way, shape, or form.

"Actually, I kinda like those," Maria said. "I might go out there for a while."

"Okay," Sarah said. "Come back in if you change your mind."

"I will." Maria took a few backward steps, making eye contact with Michael for just a split second. And then she turned and headed outside, but he sensed that, when he went back out there, she didn't want him to go back to hanging out with the guys. She wanted him to come hang out with her.

"Alright, carry on with your gossip," he told the girls.

"It's not gossip," Sarah corrected. "It's girl talk."

"Whatever." It was all the same damn thing to him. He quickly went to the keg, squeezing in between a couple of sloppily drunk sophomores he barely recognized as coworkers, and poured himself another full glass of beer.

Once he was back outside, he scanned the crowd of guests for Maria. He saw plenty of faces he recognized, but not one of them was hers. Where the hell was she?

He noticed Tess and Kyle down at the end of the driveway, engaged in some sort of conversation that must have been about Tess's weight, because she kept making this big beach ball shape in front of herself, and he just kept shaking his head and making a skinnier shape with his hands.

 _Go talk to them,_ he thought, but he kept looking around for Maria instead.

"Yo, Mike!" Fly called. He tossed him back his lighter, and Michael caught it with his left hand.

 _I guess I could just light off some more,_ he thought, moving the lighter around in his hand. But Fly seemed to have it under control for now as he positioned another firecracker in the middle of the street.

"Michael."

He whirled around when he heard Maria say his name. She stood a few feet away with two sparklers in her hand. "Sparklers?" she said. "Really?"

"Where'd you get those?"

"Your supply box."

He glanced over her shoulder to see how many fireworks he had left in that box. They were shooting off a lot, so it was definitely dwindling. "I got 'em for Sarah," he lied. In all reality, he was actually kind of a sucker for sparklers. They were . . . pretty.

"Are you gonna light 'em?" she asked.

"Yeah." But not here, not in front of everyone. He didn't want Sarah and those girls to look out the window and see him and Maria standing out there with each other. Sure, it was harmless, but . . . he just didn't want them to see.

He handed his beer off to some girl and said, "Come with me," taking one sparkler out of Maria's hand.

"Where?"

"Just . . ." He motioned with his head for her to follow him. And she did.

They wound up around the side of the house by themselves, completely shrouded in darkness. He lit his sparkler, and it generated just enough light for him to see her face.

"These are dangerous," she said.

"I know." That was why he liked them. He waved his around in the air as it flickered wildly, emitting a golden color. "I feel like Tinkerbell."

She laughed and said, "Light mine, too."

He brought the lighter up to the tip of hers, and it crackled to life after a couple of seconds. Now he could see her face a little more clearly. She looked nice tonight. Light makeup, casual ponytail. That was all she needed.

"Good party, huh?" he said.

"Yeah." She waved her sparkler in a circular motion in front of her while he held his off to the side, just letting it burn.

"Is Max really sick?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes."

He smirked. "Good."

She gave him a look, one that the sparklers barely allowed him to see. "That's mean."

"I don't care." When it came to Max, he'd never be nice.

Suddenly, a huge boom rang out in the air as Fly set off another firework, and she flinched.

"You don't really like those, do you?" he deduced.

"No."

"So why'd you come out then?"

"I just . . ." She shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" _Bullshit._ She could have stayed inside with Sarah and the others. Most girls would have. Clearly she had some reason for coming outside.

"I wanted to talk," she revealed finally. "To you."

"About sparklers?"

"No, not about sparklers."

"About what then?"

Another booming firework. Another flinch. "I just need to talk you," she said quietly. He could barely even hear her.

Suddenly, his stomach clenched. _Oh, shit,_ he thought. _Christmas. The meaningful present._ Max really had gone and done it, hadn't he? He'd proposed.

He tried to catch a glimpse of her left hand, but it was too dark to see, and she was holding her sparkler with her right hand.

"What is it?" he asked her fearfully, shaking his sparkler as it started to spark less. Maybe he didn't want to know. Ignorance was bliss. Or whatever.

"We can't talk here," she said.

"Why not?" They were alone. It wasn't as loud over here as it was out front.

"We just . . . can't," she said. Her sparkler started to fade out, too, as if to signal the conversation was over. Without the light, he could barely even see her.

"Alright," he said, taking the metal stick back from her once it had burned out. "Later tonight then."

He heard her inhale sharply, and that worried him. A lot.

...

"I'm so glad you and Maria could come," Sarah told Liz as they made their way into the kitchen. Cheryl had stepped away to call her babysitter and check in. "It's nice to see some familiar faces."

"Do you not know many of these people?" Liz asked, taking a couple chips out of the huge bowl on the counter.

"I know some of them, but Michael knows _all_ of them. He's so popular."

"Always has been." Liz popped a few chips into her mouth, smiling as she recalled that old high school bravado he used to have. "You should have seen him and Kyle back in the day. They were, like, teenage royalty."

"I'll bet." Sarah ate a few chips, too, then blurted, "Oh, guess what? Michael finally took me to your family's restaurant. It was so cute."

"Oh, yeah, my dad's pride and joy. What'd you have?"

"Saturn Rings and Men in Blackberry pie."

Liz laughed, shaking her head. Honestly, where else but the Crashdown would _blackberry_ pie be a hit? "That pie's, like, the most popular menu item," she said. "Mainly because of the name, I think."

"It was really good," Sarah said. "So did you used to waitress there?"

Liz nodded. "Mmm-hmm. That's actually where I, uh . . . met Michael."

"Oh. Sounds familiar."

"Yeah." He _definitely_ had a tendency to be a little overly flirty with his waitresses. "But what he and Maria had was on a totally different level than whatever he had with me."

Sarah scrunched up her face. "He wasn't a very good guy back then, was he?" she said.

"No." In retrospect, it was easy to see that, but at the time, she'd been smitten. "That didn't stop me from having a huge crush on him, though. Same with every other girl in town. I think he always just saw me as, like, the naïve, innocent private school girl he wanted to deflower, though. And he did."

"He was my first time, too," Sarah revealed.

"Really?"

"Yep. First and only."

"Aw, that's kinda sweet." To be able to say that you had only ever had sex with one person, with the person you loved . . . that would have been nice. It wasn't something most people could say.

"I'm glad I waited until I was in love," Sarah said.

Liz grunted. "I _wish_ I'd waited." Physically, it had been good with Michael, but emotionally, he'd never been there.

"Who would you have waited for?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know." That was a lie, though. She _did_ know. "Probably Max." It was no secret that she hadn't _just_ had a crush on him.

"You know, I think it's really good that you and Max and Maria are all so close," Sarah said. "Your kids are growing up surrounded by people who love them and support them. They're lucky to have that."

"Thanks." Coming from Sarah, whose life was so obviously going according to plan, that was a big compliment. "Yeah, it's . . . it's all worked out well." But even so . . . that didn't mean it had worked out the way she'd thought it would.

...

 _Moving to Carlsbad was a huge undertaking. Luckily, since Max was in town visiting his mom, he'd stopped into see Scarlet, and he hadn't objected when she'd asked for his assistance packing up._

" _Thanks for helping, Max," she said, amazed that she had so much stuff._

" _Yeah, no problem." He slid the top drawer out of her dresser, raising an eyebrow when he saw that that was her underwear drawer._

" _Nothing you haven't seen before," she mumbled, unembarrassed._

" _True," he said. He set that drawer down on top of her bed, then took the next drawer out and stacked it on top of the first one. "Hey, listen, I think it's really cool that you're doin' this, startin' up your own business."_

" _And taking a couple classes on the side," she reminded him. "American dream."_

" _Well, I'm proud of you," he told her. "It takes guts."_

 _She smiled. "Thank you." In all reality, he'd been the one to inspire her. Seeing him seek out the help he needed and turn his life around had made her believe that anything was possible if you just put your mind to it. "I'm proud of you, too," she said. "You've really changed things around. It's impressive."_

" _Yeah, that's what Maria said."_

" _Maria?" she echoed. She knew that he and Maria were trying to work out their differences, but the way he said her name . . . it just sounded like those differences were already worked out. "Are you guys spending more time together?" she asked._

" _Yeah. Actually, we're, uh . . . we're living together right now, in Houston."_

 _She felt her eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. "Oh." That sounded . . . serious. "Oh, that's . . . that's great." How had she not seen it heading this direction? She should have._

" _Yeah, I never thought we'd get back together, but . . . it's goin' well," he said. "And Dylan and I are really starting to bond. For the first time in a long time, I feel like things are working out."_

" _Yeah, definitely." Her voice came out sounding way too high-pitched, so she cleared her throat and asked, "So you're . . . you're happy?" That was all she really cared about. After everything he'd been through, everything he'd put_ himself _through, she wanted to know that he'd come out on the right side._

" _I'm happy," he confirmed._

Happy with Maria, _she registered._ And Dylan. _It made sense. Technically, they'd been his family longer than she had been. "Then I'm happy for you, Max," she said, and a large part of her meant it. But an equally large part just kept repeating the words over and over again in her mind._ I'm happy. I'm happy.

 _She was happy for him. She had to be._

...

"Hmm." Liz tried to move the memory out of her mind, raking her hand through her hair. "You know what?" she said. "I could use a drink."

...

Kyle sounded confident as he declared, "I got it all planned out."

"Do you now?" Michael said.

"Yeah. Right at midnight, I'm gonna grab my girl, swoop her up, bend her down, and give her the best kiss of her life."

Michael took a drink and doubtfully asked, "Can your back handle that?"

"It's gonna have to, 'cause that's the plan."

"Well, it's a good plan." Michael paused for a moment as Fly set off another firework. This one whistled up into the sky and exploded into purple and green flairs. Then he looked around the front lawn and spotted Tess huddled under a blanket next to Cheryl, who was huddled under a blanket of her own. Probably talking babies or something.

"Seems like she's in a better mood tonight than she was at the club the other night," Michael commented.

"Oh, a lot better," Kyle agreed. "I'll tell you what, though: She's startin' to stress out about her body."

Michael made a face. "Why? She's pregnant. She's supposed to get fat."

"It's not even fat; it's my child."

"Boy or a girl?" Michael asked, even though they hadn't found out yet. "Make a prediction."

"I don't know," Kyle responded. "Doesn't matter to me."

"I bet it's a boy," Michael wagered.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Cheryl and Steve had a boy. Tina found out she's having a boy."

"Really?"

"Yep. So that's probably what you and Tess are gonna have."

Kyle shrugged. "We'll see. As long as it's healthy . . ."

"Yeah." That was the most important thing.

"I'm actually startin' to look forward to it," Kyle admitted suddenly.

"Good." As long as Kyle kept trying to better himself, he'd be a good dad. And if he was a good dad, then he and Tess would be a good couple again. Things would always work out for the two of them. Things always did.

Another firework went off, and while everyone watched it crackle in the air, Michael's eyes drifted elsewhere. Glancing towards the house, he noticed Maria slipping inside, and she made eye contact with him as she did so. He knew he was supposed to follow her. He knew they still needed to talk.

It was getting late. They really couldn't put it off much longer.

"Hey, I'm gonna see how things are goin' inside," he told Kyle. "Alright?"

"Alright."

He finished his beer on the way it and chucked it in the trashcan by the bottom of the stairs. He looked around the living room, but Maria wasn't there. Sarah and Liz were dancing with a group of other girls, but Maria wasn't one of them. Neither one of them noticed him.

"Michael."

He jerked his head up when she called his name. At the top of the stairs, she motioned with her head for him to follow.

 _I might need another drink for this,_ he thought, but he went straight up instead of making a pit stop at the keg.

She opened the door to a bedroom that looked way too nice to be Monk's, but it _did_ have the cleanliness Michael expected of someone with mild OCD. Shango was staying up in this room while the party raged, lying underneath the bed with only his stubby little back legs sticking out.

"Is that . . .?" Maria started to ask.

"Yeah, he doesn't like the fireworks." Michael bent down and patted his dog's butt, but that only made Shango scoot his legs in all the way underneath the bed.

"Well, here we are," Maria said.

"Yep." He wanted to catch a glimpse of her left hand, but she had a long-sleeved shirt on, and it was pulled down over her knuckles.

"Sorry I couldn't talk outside," she said. "I just . . ." She trailed off for a moment, sitting down on the foot of the bed. "I need it to be quiet."

Well, it was quiet up here. He could _feel_ the music playing downstairs more than he could hear it. It just sounded muffled. "So what're we talkin' about?" he asked, afraid he already knew.

She sighed and scooted over a bit. "Sit down."

 _Oh, crap,_ he thought. This didn't sound good. He sat down anyway, though, bracing himself for whatever she was about to say. He wasn't going to be able to pretend to be happy for her, so his only hope was to keep his mouth shut and not say anything.

"You know how Max said he was gonna get me a really meaningful Christmas present?" she started in.

 _Here we go._ He didn't want to hear this. He couldn't even look at her.

"Well . . . he did."

He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure. He wasn't going to freak out. No. Not with Sarah right downstairs. "So what is it?" he asked, his mouth tight.

Almost as if she were moving in slow motion, she reached her left hand into her pocket and pulled out . . . something. Something small. Something shiny. Fantastic.

She held out a ring, and he didn't even want to look at it. But when he noticed how familiar it looked, he couldn't look away.

He took it out of her hand, bringing it up close to his face to get a good look at it. Either he was seeing things, or he'd just traveled back in time, because this was . . .

What the hell _was_ this?

"This is the ring I gave to you," he said. "This is our engagement ring."

Wordlessly, she nodded.

He spun it around between his fingers, eyeing it curiously. "Unbelievable," he grunted. "Of course he gets you the exact same kind." What a fucking loser. He couldn't even pick out his own engagement ring. All he could do was copy what she'd already had.

"No, Michael's, that's . . . that's _the_ ring," she clarified. "The one you gave me, right there."

"What?" That ring was gone. It had been for years now. "That's impossible."

"No, it's not."

He wrinkled his face, _completely_ confused.

"It didn't fall down the drain like we thought it did," she explained. "Max took it."

"What?" he blared.

"I didn't know. He only told me when he gave it back to me."

 _Oh, that son of a bitch._ It was a good thing he wasn't there tonight, because Michael would have killed him. "Why the hell would he take your ring?"

"Because he was mad at me."

"So he's had it this whole time?"

"No, he sold it." She hung her head, as if she were embarrassed on his behalf. "He said he always felt bad about it, so he tracked it down and bought it back again."

He grunted, muttering sarcastically, "How noble." This guy was a fucking bastard. Why couldn't she see that? It didn't matter that he'd gotten the ring back; all that mattered was that he'd taken it in the first place.

"I want you to have it," she told him quietly.

He stared at her in disbelief. "Why?"

Her lips trembled for a moment, and her voice was shaky, too. "Because it's yours."

"No, it's not." He'd put it on _her_ finger. She was the one who'd worn it.

"You're the one who bought and paid for it," she said, sounding way too logical for his liking.

"I bought it for you."

"Well, it's not mine anymore," she whimpered, blinking back tears. "So just take it, okay?"

He stared down at the small diamond sadly. It didn't matter how she tried to rationalize giving it back to him; it _wasn't_ his.

"I have to go," she said, standing up.

"Maria . . ." He reached out and grabbed her hand, wanting her to stay. Slowly, he let his grip fall away from hers, though, and he sat there like an idiot, not knowing what to say.

"Happy New Year, Michael," she said tearfully, managing a strained smile before she left the bedroom.

He sighed heavily, feeling like all the energy had left his body. His shoulders slumped, and he just kept sitting there with that ring in his hand. It was so small, and it had been gone for so long, but it still managed to bring back even more memories than his bedroom could. And that was saying something.

...

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!"

Tess searched around for Kyle, but she couldn't find him.

"Six! Five! Four!"

 _Oh, well,_ she thought. The midnight kiss was a stupid tradition anyway.

"Three! Two! One!"

Out on the street, Fly lit was had to be the last of the fountain fireworks. It shot sparks into the air right as everyone yelled, "Happy New Year!"

She watched the fountain color change from green to blue to purple while everyone else around her partnered up and rang in the new year the way they were supposed to.

"Tess."

Spinning around, she nearly bumped into Kyle. He was right behind her, staring at her intently. Before she even knew what was happening, one of his arms was around her waist, the other up by her shoulders, and he was bending her backward, dipping her down. He kissed her grandly, like a prince in a fairytale movie. And she kissed him back, head spinning.

When they came up from it, she literally felt breathless. That was . . . what _was_ that? It certainly wasn't the Kyle Valenti she'd grown accustomed to.

"Wow," she gasped. "That was amazing."

He smirked. "That was the plan."

 _Oh my god,_ she thought. _Oh my god._ Her heart beat rapidly inside her chest as she pressed her body into his and kissed him again, just to see if it still felt electric. And it did. It wasn't a one-time thing.

 _Kyle . . ._ This might not have solved all their problems, but for tonight, it reignited something within her. Because she was gradually starting to see that, even after everything, he was still in there.

...

 _What the hell's going on out there?_ Michael wondered. It had gotten really loud a moment ago, and now it sounded like Fly was shooting off the rest of their fireworks.

He glanced at the clock, horrified to see the time. "Oh, shit." He got up and bolted out of the bedroom, shocked that he'd been sitting in there for ten minutes. He raced downstairs, pocketing Maria's ring on the way, and searched for his girlfriend. His _girlfriend._ The one who wanted and deserved a kiss from her damn boyfriend at midnight.

"Sarah?" he called, looking around the house. "Sarah?" Not there. He flew outside, and there she was, close to the door.

"Michael!" She sounded relieved to see him.

"I'm sorry-"

She threw herself into his arms, kissing him, cutting him off. She didn't seem upset that he was a minute or so late. She just seemed happy to be kissing him.

When she pulled back and gazed up at him, she didn't ask him where he'd been, or yell at him for not getting down there sooner. Instead, she just beamed a smile and said, "I love you."

 _I know you do,_ he thought. She didn't need to say it; he knew it. It was obvious. "I love you, too," he told her, forgetting about that ring in his pocket as he bent his head to kiss her again.

...

"Dammit," Maria swore as she practically burst through the front door. "Max?" The house was dark, no lights on, so she hurtled herself down the hallway and into the bedroom, well aware that she'd missed the midnight mark and broken her promise to be there when the new year hit. She was too late.

"Max?" When she opened the bedroom door, she found him on his side, fast asleep. The wastebasket from the bathroom was by the side of the bed, full of tissues, and he was still clutching one tissue in his hand.

She cast a quick glance at the clock. 12:02. They were already _in_ the new year. So there was no point in waking him up just to kiss him. Especially when he wasn't feeling well. So she shut the door, opting to just let him sleep instead.


	43. Chapter 43

"Home sweet home," Sarah said as she pushed open the door and practically fell into their apartment. She lugged her suitcase behind her while Michael carried both their bags.

"Feels good to be back," he said, nudging Shango inside gently with his foot. His dog seemed as lethargic as they both were. None of them had slept at all last night.

Yawning, Sarah set her suitcase down and stretched out her limbs. "I'm so tired," she murmured.

"Let's just sleep all day," he suggested. They still had a few days of Christmas break left. No class. No work. No worries.

"Sounds good," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "Mmm, I think I'm gonna take a shower before I crawl into bed." She waited a few seconds, then asked, "Care to join me?"

Well, apparently she wasn't too tired to fool around a little. "Sure," he said. "I'll be in in a minute."

"Okay." She padded into the bathroom, smiling coyly as she slipped inside and shut the door.

He waited until he heard the water start to run before he made his way over to his dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Hesitantly, he reached into his pocket and took out the ring that had been stashed there for seven hours. He couldn't just get rid of it. And he didn't want to. But he wasn't going to put it in a fucking display case, either.

Reaching far back into the drawer, he found a pair of socks he never wore, unfolded them, and dropped the ring into one of them. Then he rolled them back up, moving them around in his hands for a moment. He couldn't even feel the ring in there. It was definitely hidden.

Which was exactly where it needed to be.

He put the socks back in, pushing them as far back as possible, and closed the drawer. Then he went to join Sarah in the bathroom, taking his shirt off as he went inside.

...

The rest of Christmas break was pretty uneventful, but Michael didn't mind. He spent a lot of time watching TV, including an epic _American Ninja Warrior_ marathon that motivated him to go hit the weight room a couple times. He went to the bookstore and rented all his textbooks for his new classes. Couple hundred bucks out the ass.

He had Mondays open this semester, which meant that Music Appreciation 2 on Tuesday would be his first class. Undeniably, he was looking forward to it.

"Second semester," he said as he and Steve walked to class.

"Feels like we never left," Steve remarked.

"Bro, are you gonna be able to handle all this shit? Takin' classes _and_ working _and_ raising a kid?" It sounded . . . painful.

"I'm gonna try," Steve said, ever the optimist. "I'll see you later, man."

"Later." They split off, headed in opposite directions, and Michael didn't have much further to go. Glancing up ahead, he saw Maria walking up the steps of Lecuona Hall. It wasn't that cold out today, but she was once again wearing his sweatshirt.

"Maria!" he called, trotting towards her.

She stopped on the outside steps and waited for him.

"Hey," he said, glad to see her. Now that the semester was staring up again, they could get back to work, too, and he could boss her around a little more.

"Hey," she said, looking likewise glad to see him.

The class was basically just _déjà vu_ of the last one. Same lecture hall, same professor, and a lot of the same people. Although not everyone had opted to take it, so it certainly seemed a little more sparse when they walked in there.

"I'm glad we're in the same room again," Maria said as they made their way to their usual seats. "I like sitting in the back."

"This is the only class where I'm a back-rower," he said.

"Yeah, aren't you usually in the front three?"

"Yeah." He chuckled, shaking his head at himself as he took a seat. "God, I'm a nerd, aren't I?"

"No," she said as she sat down next to him. "You're just smart."

 _Maybe,_ he thought. _Sometimes._

There was a lot of conversation going on all over the room. People were getting caught up with each other, bragging about what they'd done over Christmas break and what gifts they'd gotten. Michael didn't care about any of it. He didn't know one other person in that class, never talked to any of them. And as long as Maria was in there with him, he probably never would.

"So what'd you do with the ring?" she asked him suddenly.

"Threw it in the river."

"What?"

"No." He smiled, loving that the thought of it got her a little hysterical. "I'll keep it."

Her whole body relaxed, like she was relieved he hadn't just thrown it away. He'd never do that. Wasn't even an option.

Minutes later, the professor practically bounded into the classroom, looking absolutely pumped up for the first day. "Alright, welcome to Music Appreciation 2, everyone," he said, and behind him, his TA, who was also the same as last semester, waved. "Who's excited for another semester of this class?"

No one said anything, but Michael grinned. Because he was excited.

...

Sarah spent her lunch break with Tess that day, eager to get caught up with her best friend. They hadn't gotten to spend much time together since the New Year's, and she wanted to hear how things were going with Kyle. Instead of talking about him, though, Tess started in about her job.

"So I'm done," she blurted. "I quit."

"You mean, you quit coaching?" Sarah asked for clarification.

"Yeah. I was more of a glorified servant anyway." Tess stopped their waiter as he walked by and said, "More breadsticks please?" She'd already eaten about five of them.

"So what're you gonna do for money?" Sarah inquired.

"Well, Kyle's dad's helping, and my parents are helping, too. I'll get another job at some point, maybe after the baby's born."

"Yeah." Babies were expensive. Either she or Kyle was going to have to work. They might even both have to.

"I hate to leave those poor girls with Kristin and Stephanie," she bemoaned, "but I just can't do it. I can't work there and be pregnant at the same time."

"The morning sickness is still really bad, huh?" Sarah guessed.

"Well, it's not fun, obviously," Tess acknowledged. "But it's more than that. I just feel so . . . like, _fatigued_. All the time."

"I think that's normal."

"But it's ridiculous. I mean, take the other night for example. At the party, Kyle and I had this, like, incredible, time-stopping kiss." Her eyes glimmered, and she held her hand to her chest and breathed in dizzily as she described it. "So we were feeling really good, and we thought we might go home and . . . you know, _feel good_ together."

Sarah laughed. "Okay, stop trying to be coy. You wanted to have sex."

"Yes, we did. First time in a _long_ time. Anyway, he goes to the bathroom for, like, a minute, and when he comes back out, apparently, I'm fast asleep."

"Well, it was a late night," Sarah rationalized.

"But it's _sex_ , Sarah. It's sex with Kyle. Like old-school Kyle, too, not down-in-the-dumps depressed Kyle. Old-school Kyle was like a machine in the sack."

"Wow." Having only know new-school Kyle, Sarah had a hard time imagining that. But it made sense. He'd been a good-looking athlete, just like Michael.

"Exactly, wow. And I just dozed off on him." Tess flapped her arms helplessly against her sides, immediately sitting up straighter when the waiter brought their second helping of breadsticks to the table. She tore into them like an animal. "Mmm, _so_ good. But I shouldn't be eating them, see? 'cause I'm already getting huge."

"No, you're not."

"Yeah, I am," she insisted. "I feel like I'm getting fatter faster and sleepier sooner, and it really sucks."

"It'll be worth it in the end," Sarah reminded her. "You and Kyle are gonna have a family in the end."

"Yeah." It took Tess a few seconds, but for the first time since she'd found out she was pregnant, Sarah actually saw her smile about it.

Things were looking up.

...

"God, this sucks," Kyle groaned as he struggled to lower the handles of the bicep pulldown machine in the rec center's weight room. He only got it halfway down before he had to let it up and release it. "This used to be so easy."

Michael put the weights he was lifting back on their designated spots on the rack and assured his friend, "You're doin' fine."

"No, I'm not. It's embarrassing," Kyle lamented.

"You just gotta pace yourself." This was his first time back in the weight room in . . . years. It wasn't going to be easy.

Kyle sighed, getting to his feet. "The way I see it, I've got this semester," he said. "Then I gotta be back to my normal self."

Michael didn't want to burst his bubble or anything, but that seemed a little unrealistic. "Hate to break it to you, buddy," he said, "but you're never gonna be the way you used to be."

"I know," Kyle said, using his shirt to wipe the sweat off his head. "I know I'm not gonna be runnin' around any football fields. But at least maybe I can run around the backyard with my son. Or daughter."

"Yeah." That seemed like a much more realistic, attainable goal.

Michael grabbed his water bottle and sat down on the floor, taking a drink. Kyle groaned as he sat down beside him, holding his back. "Don't overdo it," Michael cautioned with him. Going from the pool to the weight room was a big step.

"No, I'm fine," Kyle said. "I'm just outta shape, outta practice."

"It'll get easier."

"I hope so. I wanna come every other day," he decided. "I really wanna—I wanna step it up, you know? I wasted so much time."

"Well . . ." Two years _was_ a long time, but better late than never. "You just had to find the right motivation."

"Yeah, it's _definitely_ motivating." Kyle held out his hand, and Michael gave him his water bottle so he could take a drink, too. "I just wanna be a good dad, you know?"

"Yeah." He knew.

"I don't wanna be a bad one."

Hmm. He knew plenty about that, too.

...

Pound Elementary started back up a few days after Michael's college classes did. He would have forgotten to go on Wednesday if Vanessa hadn't called to remind him. He skipped lunch that day, otherwise he would have shown up late, and he ended up getting there while the kids were having their own lunchtime. He automatically went to Vanessa's office, figuring she'd tell him what to do, even though she technically wasn't supervising him anymore.

"How's it goin'?" he asked her.

She looked disheveled as she searched frantically through a stack of papers and folders on her desk. "Oh, first day back," she groaned, barely even looking up at him. "It's hectic."

"Is Jake here?"

Before she could even answer, he heard a loud, high-pitched scream from out in the lunch room. Well. That answered that question.

"Wish me luck," he said, ducking out of her office.

When he got out to the lunch room, it wasn't hard to spot Jake. Not only was he screaming at the top of his lungs, but he was pounding his fists on the table, kicking at it from underneath. His lunch tray sat in front of him, untouched, and one of the poor staff members on lunch duty was trying unsuccessfully to get him to calm down. The other kids all sat around him, but not with him, staring at him as if he were a creature from outer space. A few were laughing.

"Oh, shit," Michael whispered. What had he gotten himself into here?

...

As Sarah's hands rubbed up and down his back, Michael felt some of the stress from the day start to dissolve. "That feels good," he said. "That makes my ears feel better."

"Well, I don't know what a massage has to do with your ears," she said, "but that's okay. I just like to have an excuse to get my hands on you."

"You don't need an excuse."

She giggled and then pressed down hard on his lower back, working out some knots he hadn't even known were there. "So he just screamed all afternoon then?" she said.

"Yeah, I couldn't get him to stop." He'd taken him to all of his afternoon classes and sat him in the back, as far away as possible from all the other kids. But he'd lasted a maximum of ten minutes in each of them before he had to be taken out. "I don't know, I'm kind of second-guessing what I signed up for here."

"Well, he needs the help," she said. "And that's the career you wanna get into, helping people."

"Yeah." This massage was helping _him_ , though. He was going to need one of these every night after working with this Jake kid.

"And you said he stopped screaming when his parents got there?" she recapped.

"Yeah, then he was fine." It had been like magic when they'd walked in the resource room. All the screams had stopped, and he'd just run up to them and hugged them. Anyone who would have _just_ seen that side of him would have thought he was a nice, normal boy.

"Well, clearly you just have to get to know him and gain his trust then," she advised. "Once you do that, I'm sure you'll find a way to reach him."

He hoped so. She had a lot of confidence in him, and he didn't want it to be misplaced.

...

"Since this is the second tier of your immersion in Music Appreciation, we will be upping the ante in terms of the academic expectations. And that's gonna start right away."

Michael rolled his eyes as the professor droned on and on. Why not have an open mic night or something, except during the day? That would help him appreciate music way more than any tests or homework assignments would.

"You'll be writing a paper of at least three pages in length, due next Friday," the professor informed them. "In it, I want you to articulate what you believe to be the most influential decade of music in our nation's history. Now it can be one of the decades we've studied or one we have yet to study, but you should be specific in the musicians or songs you reference, and it should be persuasive."

Michael twisted his torso to the side, stretching out. "I know what I'm gonna do," he declared. "Nineties."

"The grunge era," Maria said. "But you do realize none of that nineties rock would exist if the fifties hadn't given birth to rock and roll, right?"

"What, so that's what you're doin', the fifties?"

"Maybe."

He made a face. "Ugh." The fifties unit in this class had nearly put him to sleep.

"Oh, come on, it's supposed to be an influential decade of music," she said, her voice getting louder as she argued with him. "I love the nineties, don't get me wrong, but they weren't even that long ago. They haven't even had _time_ to influence anything."

"They don't need time."

"Yes, they do."

The professor raised his voice and gruffly asked, "Am I interrupting something back there?"

 _Constantly,_ Michael thought. The amount of time that he and Maria spent talking back there versus the amount of time they spent actually paying attention was . . . disproportionate.

"No," Maria said. "Sorry."

Their professor gave them both a stern look, then continued on. "As I was saying, Billy will be available to meet with all of you and help you with your paper." Behind him, his TA waved his hand. "He is an excellent resource, so utilize him."

Michael moved down lower in his seat, trying to go unnoticed as he started up his teasing. "Nice going, Maria. You got me in trouble."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. I'm a good kid."

She rolled her eyes, but he could always tell she wasn't really annoyed when she smiled at the same time.

...

After class, Maria reluctantly accepted Michael's invitation to go back to his apartment. Just for research, of course, nothing inappropriate. At first, it felt a little weird to be alone with him there. But as long as she just sat at the computer and focused on what she was doing, then that weirdness started to go away.

"You know, we could've just gone to the library," she pointed out, sifting through search engine results. He and Sarah only had one computer to use.

"We could've," he agreed flippantly as he attempted to play with a hacky sack in the living room. He was totally unfocused, because he'd found that little multi-colored bean bag on the walk home, and it was like treasure to him.

"Is Sarah gonna be weirded out if she comes home and sees me here?" she inquired. The whole time she'd been sitting there, she'd felt nervous about the possibility.

"She's not coming home," he told her as he kicked the ball back and forth, using the sides of his feet to keep it controlled. "She's working all afternoon." He kicked it a little too far forward, though, and it fell to the floor. "Dammit," he swore, "why the fuck am I not good at this?" He picked up the hacky sack and started tossing it back and forth from hand to hand instead.

"Are you even gonna do any research?" she asked him.

"Eventually. We got a whole week."

"Well, I've already found most of what I need," she boasted. "Look at this: a six-page essay somebody wrote about why the fifties was _the_ definitive decade of music."

"Cool," he said. "Plagiarize the hell out of it."

"No way. Is that what you do?"

"That's what I did in high school," he said. "Now I just write shit and Sarah proofreads it for me."

 _Oh, of course,_ Maria thought. _She'd be great at that, too._ "You're so spoiled," she said.

"I know." He finally stopped throwing that hacky sack around and came towards her. "Let me see that," he said, bending down to get a closer look at the computer screen. She tried not to react as he moved in close behind her, his head near her own. He read the first couple lines, then shrugged and said, "Whatever," as he stood up straight again. "Fifties don't have Metallica."

"Is that what it all comes down to for you, one band? Because they debuted in the eighties." She opened up a new internet tab and typed in _Metallica debut_ on Google, and the exact year came up. "1981."

"Fine, Nirvana then."

She replaced _Metallica_ with _Nirvana_ and searched again. " '87."

"Radiohead."

" '85."

He was starting to look frustrated. "Fucking Backstreet Boys then."

She laughed and quickly searched that one, too. "Ooh, '93. There, that one works."

"Well, it doesn't matter when the bands _formed_ ," he argued. "It matters when they were most _influential_."

"But Metallica's biggest hits were in the eighties," she pointed out.

"No, not 'Enter Sandman,' and that's my favorite Metallica song."

"Fine, stick with the nineties then."

"I will. You stick with your fifties."

She sighed, doubting whether she could get a whole paper out of that, though. "I don't know, I kind of like the sixties, too."

Finally, they agreed. " _Yeah_!" he said emphatically. "Stoner music."

"That's when the Righteous Brothers recorded their version of 'Unchained Melody.'"

The mere mention of that song was enough to finally get him serious. "I got that on my iPod," he told her. "We could play it."

 _Oh my god,_ she thought. _Is he serious?_ Part of her wanted to take him up on that offer, but a much more logical part knew it wasn't a good idea. "No," she said.

"No." It seemed like he was only saying that because she had.

 _Maybe I should go,_ she pondered. Maybe it wasn't okay for her to be there if _that_ song was playing in the back of her mind now.

"You want a beer?" he asked as he headed into the kitchen.

"Um . . ." She got up, still debating whether or not she should find a reason to walk out that door. "Sure, yeah." She followed him into the kitchen, and Shango followed her, nuzzling his head against her leg. "He's so cute," she said.

"Yeah, he's a stud," he agreed, handing her a Budweiser can.

"Thanks," she said, popping the tab open. She took a small sip, but he took a big gulp of his.

"You want some beer, Shango?" he asked his dog. "You can't have any. You're too young."

"He's such a nice dog," she said, bending down to pet him. "I wouldn't mind getting a dog."

"Does Max not want one?"

"He just thinks it'd be a lot of work."

Michael shrugged. "It's not so bad."

"Yeah, but you don't have a kid to take care of, too," she pointed out.

He pressed his lips together tightly, staring down at his beer can. "No, I don't."

She frowned and stood up again, wishing she hadn't said that.

"But everyone else does. Do you notice that?" he went on. "You and Max have a kid. Max and Liz have a kid. Max should _really_ get a vasectomy. Tess and Kyle are _gonna_ have a kid. My fucking little sister's gonna have a kid, for crying out loud."

"Yeah, but . . ." She circled her index finger around the rim of her beer can, collecting the liquid that had gathered. "You _know_ part of the reason why you've had so much success in college is that you're _not_ tied down with fatherhood, right?"

"I guess," he muttered, taking another drink. He shuffled into the living room then and sat down on the couch. Shango eagerly hopped up beside him, but Maria took her seat next to him a bit more hesitantly, being careful not to sit too close.

"So did Dylan say anything to you about Jake?" he questioned.

"The new kid?" He'd said a whole lot, even demonstrated the lunchroom scene for her. "Oh, yeah. He didn't really know what to think."

"Is he freaked out about Circle of Friends now?"

"A little bit." She'd tried to reassure him that it wouldn't be a big deal, and that people wouldn't make fun of him for being a part of it. No one outside of the circle would even know. "Maybe if you talk to him, it'd make him feel better," she suggested. Michael would definitely be able to make Dylan feel more at ease about the whole thing, not only because he was a counselor-in-the-making, but just because he was . . . Michael.

"Yeah, I can do that," he said. They settled into a comfortable silence for a few seconds, and then he broke it when he looked over at her, shook his head, and laughed lightly.

"What?" she asked.

"Just . . . five months ago, did you ever think we'd be able to sit here like this, drinkin' beer and hangin' out?"

Five months ago, even though she'd thought about him a lot, she'd mostly just thought about the past. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she admitted.

"Aren't you glad you did, though?"

She hadn't been at first. But now . . . she was getting so used to having him back in her life. As a friend. "Yeah," she said quietly. She was really, really glad.

He smiled at her warmly. "Me, too."

...

At lunch the next day, Michael had to call Jake's parents. The kid was just completely out of control. Not only was he kicking and screaming, but now he was throwing his food, too, and some of it had landed on a little first grade girl. Of course she'd started crying when that happened. It was a disaster.

Jake's mom was there in no time, as if she were used to it, and with fifteen minutes left in the lunch period, Michael found himself with a rare moment of peace and quiet. He took the opportunity to pull Dylan aside to one of the outer tables and sit down with him to talk to him like he'd promised Maria would. He tried to explain what Jake's autism meant in a way that Dylan could understand, and Dylan asked him plenty of questions. The last one, though, was, "Why do I have to be his friend?"

"Well . . . you don't _have_ to," Michael told him. "But aren't you pretty much friends with everybody?"

Dylan thought about it for a minute, then nodded. "Not girls, though."

"Yeah, not yet."

Dylan made a face and shook his head adamantly. "Never."

"Okay, fine, never." He'd change his mind about that soon enough. "But you're friends with all the other boys your age, right? And I mean, let's be real here, you and Luke . . . you guys are kinda popular. Like me and Coach Kyle, you know what I mean?"

Dylan smiled proudly. "Yeah."

"Yeah, exactly. So when you're that popular and you have that many friends, you gotta be a leader."

"A leader?" Dylan echoed.

"Yeah, do you know what that is?"

"Uh-huh." Dylan bit into a celery stick, chewed it for a few seconds, and then spit it out into his napkin. "It's . . ." He trailed off as he struggled to come up with an answer. Or maybe he just couldn't find the right words.

"It's when people do the same thing you do, right?" Michael hinted.

"Right."

"So if you're nice to Jake, and if you're friends with him, then don't you think other people would be nice to him and be friends with him, too?"

"Hmm . . ." Dylan wrinkled his face momentarily, the nodded. "Yep."

"So you and the other guys who are in Circle have a chance to do something really good for Jake. Because even though he's a little different, don't you think he wants to have friends just like everyone else?"

Dylan nodded again.

"Yeah, so . . . it's not gonna be so bad, right?"

"I guess not," Dylan decided, arranging all of his remaining celery and carrot sticks on a napkin. As if to say he didn't want them, he slid the napkin over to Michael.

"Thanks," Michael told him, taking a carrot stick. He hated vegetables, but what the hell? He took a bite just to be polite. "Alright, well, I'm sure you want me to leave you alone so you can go finish lunch with your friends."

"No," Dylan whimpered.

"You don't want me to go?"

"No."

Michael couldn't help but smile at that. _Oh, Dylan . . ._ He loved this kid.

"My dad eats lunch with me," Dylan told him as he started to move his carrots and celery into some sort of design.

And just like that, Michael's smile fell. "Oh, yeah? He does that sometimes?"

"Yep."

He sighed, feeling deflated now. It didn't matter how much Dylan liked spending time with him, because at the end of the day, Max was able to spend a much larger amount of time with him than Michael was. He had to force himself to suck it up and remind the little boy, "I'm not your dad, though."

Eyes glued on the vegetable pattern in front of him, Dylan mumbled, "Yeah, you are."

Michael's whole body stilled, and he just stared at Dylan in disbelief, watching wordlessly as his design on the napkin finally materialized into a smiley face. _I'm not your dad,_ he kept thinking over and over again. _I'm not._ But even though he thought it, he didn't have it in his heart to say it out loud again.

After school got out, he headed straight to work to finish training Maria, and his intention was to mention what Dylan had said while they were there. But she got started on the mail, and he started to chicken out the longer he sat there and waited.

"No funny names today," she said as she distributed all the envelopes and packages into their correct mailboxes.

"That's disappointing," he said.

"I know. I was really hoping Miles Long would get something."

"Hmm." He willingly distracted himself with a pen he was trying to get to stand upright on the counter, for no purpose at all whatsoever.

"So did you talk to Dylan today?" she asked.

Then pen fell right over. "Uh, yeah."

She emerged from the little mailroom, sitting beside him. "What'd you say?"

He shrugged. "I just kinda reminded him why we chose him for Circle of Friends anyway. He seems cool with it."

"Good," she said. "Thanks for doing that."

"No problem." Maybe they could just leave it at that.

Of course, though, she just _had_ to ask, "So what did _he_ say?"

 _He called me Dad for the third time in four months,_ Michael thought. _I really should tell you._

"Michael?" she prompted.

"Oh, uh . . ." The words were right there, on the tip of his tongue, but what good would it do to tell her? She'd get weirded out by it, and then she'd go home and talk to Dylan about it, and then he'd get confused and think he'd done something wrong, and then the whole thing would blow up into a bigger deal than what it really was.

"He just said he'll try with Jake," he told her. "Try his best."

"Yeah, he will," she agreed. "He's a good kid."

 _The best,_ he thought.

"Alright, where's my next pile?" she asked.

He handed her the stack of envelopes for the suites on the second floor, and she got up and headed back into the mail room again.

 _Sorry, Maria,_ he thought. He really _had_ meant to tell her, but . . . he just couldn't.


	44. Chapter 44

When there was a knock on the door that evening, Scarlet seemed to know who it was instantly. She put her toys down and started to waddle towards the door, but Liz got in front of her and opened it. "Hey, Max," she said. "What're you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd stop by and see my little girl," he said, bending down as Scarlet scampered into his arms. She giggled as he lifted her up and held her against his side.

"Come on in," Liz said, stepping aside. She shut the door and stood back, watching adoringly as Scarlet touched her daddy's face. She was doing this thing lately where she'd touch his nose, and then her nose, his mouth and then her mouth, as though she were making sure they looked the same. "Such a Daddy's girl," she remarked.

"Fine by me," Max said, sitting down on the couch. He started bouncing her up and down on his knee—it was like a ride for her—and asked Liz, "You still comin' to Dylan's birthday party tomorrow?"

"Of course," she said. She wouldn't miss it.

"We got him his first Xbox," Max revealed.

"Oh, he'll love that."

"Yeah." Max stopped bouncing Scarlet and set her down on the floor. "Go play," he told her.

She crawled back to her toys, picked up her favorite stuffed animal, a purple monkey, and threw it at him. Then, as if she immediately wanted it back, she reached out her arms for it. He made it dance around in front of her for a moment, then gave it back to her. "Hey, so I got a proposition for you," he announced.

"Oh?" She sat down next to him on the couch, intrigued, but also a bit wary. He wasn't going to ask her to bring a cake tomorrow, was she? Because she'd sold her last one in stock today.

"There's this guy I work with on the construction crew named Alan," Max started in. "He's about the closest thing I have to a male friend; he's a good guy."

"Okay." She wasn't quite sure where he was going with this.

"Anyway, I was showin' him pictures of Dylan and Scarlet on my phone, and we ran across this picture of you at Christmas, and he just . . . he really felt attracted to you."

"You mean to my picture?"

"Well, yeah. So he was askin' about you, and I told him what you're like, and he seems pretty interested."

"Interested?" she echoed. "Wait, are you trying to set me up on a blind date?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

 _Oh, this is so weird,_ she thought. Yeah, she and Max were friends nowadays, but he was still her ex-boyfriend, still the father of her child. For _him_ of all people to play matchmaker was just . . . unexpected. "I don't know . . ." she said, doubtful that it would amount to anything.

"Liz, trust me, you'd like him. He's nice, he's smart, he works out. He makes, like, ten-thousand dollars more than I do."

"Then maybe you should date him," she joked.

"If I was gay, I probably would."

She laughed at that, but inside, she was still skeptical. "Oh, I don't know, I've just gone on so many dates over the years."

"Well, I just figured you might be interested," he said. "Unless you and Alex are . . ."

"Me and Alex?" Why did everyone think they were going to get involved now?

"Well, yeah, I just assumed . . ."

"Alex and I are friends," she told him. "We're not gonna be anything more than friends."

"Okay, so give Alan a try," he suggested. "Here, I got a picture of him." He whipped out his phone and showed her a picture of himself with Alan on site of a house they were building. It must have been taken a couple of months ago, because they were both wearing short-sleeved t-shirts. Alan was tall, blonde, tan, and muscular like Max. He sort of looked like an all-American Ken doll.

"Okay, fine," she relented, swayed by his handsomeness. "Give him my number. Tell him to call me."

"Awesome. He's gonna be stoked." Max put his phone away and slid down onto the floor to take Scarlet into his arms again. "You hear that, sweetheart?" he said. "Your mom's goin' on a date. What do you think about that?"

Scarlet laughed, reached up, and squeezed Max's nose.

Liz sighed, wishing she had some kind of playful reaction. But the truth was, dating was such a chore at this point. She was twenty-two; she was a mom. She was ready to settle down. With someone special.

...

Dylan tore off the remainder of the wrapping paper covering his last present, and when he saw the green and white box that his new Xbox was in, his whole face lit up with shock and excitement. " _Cool!_ " he exclaimed.

"You like it?" Max asked.

"Yeah!"

"This is your big present this year. That's why there weren't so many small ones."

Dylan ran his hands all over the box, trying to figure out how to open it. "This is awesome!"

"Well, you're awesome, so you deserve it," Max told him. He put his arm around him, hugged him to his side, and said, "Happy birthday, son."

"Thanks, Dad."

Maria stood back and watched them, thrilled to see them so happy together. Max had been adamant about this gift, even though it was expensive, and he was obviously elated to get this reaction out of Dylan.

"Can we play it?" Dylan asked eagerly.

"Sure, we'll set it up," Max said. "We'll play one of those games Grandma Amy got you. How's that sound?"

"The football one!" Dylan exclaimed.

"Football one, huh? Alright. Let's play it."

Maria grabbed Liz's arm, pulling her into the kitchen, leaving the boys with their toys. "Okay, was this gift a mistake?" she questioned. "I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to pull either one of them away from that thing."

"It'll be hours of entertainment," Liz said. "But at least it's something they can play together. And both enjoy."

"Yeah." _Unlike basketball,_ she thought. She wasn't going to tell Max, but just last night, Dylan had asked her if he could quit the team. It had taken some convincing to get him to agree to stick it out for the rest of their short season.

Maria reached into her pocket when she felt her phone go off, and when she saw that it was Michael calling, she quickly separated herself from Liz. "Just a minute," she said, backing up towards the hallway. "It's, um . . . my mom."

"Fun," Liz said sarcastically.

Maria headed down the hall and answered the phone as she ducked into her and Max's bedroom. "Hey," she said. "I wasn't scheduled to work today, right?"

"No, you're in the clear," he said. "I was just callin' 'cause I know it's Dylan's birthday, and . . ."

"Oh my god," she said, "you still remember that?"

"Of course."

Just the way he said that . . . _of course_. Like there wasn't any possible way he would forget. "Yeah, we're having a little party," she said. "He just opened up an Xbox."

"Sweet," Michael said. "I want one."

"Yeah, he's pretty stoked about it."

Michael sighed and said, "Well, I got a present for him, too, but if you guys are doin' the family thing . . ."

"Oh. Yeah, well, it's just—it's just me and Max and Liz here right now, so . . ."

"So, the family thing," he concluded. "That's alright. I'll be at the school on Monday, so I'll give it to him then."

"Okay. Sorry."

"It's fine," he said. "Just tell him happy birthday for me, alright?"

"I will."

"Bye."

"Bye." For some reason, when she hung up the phone, she felt a bit . . . sad. Because she remembered Dylan's third birthday, when Michael had planned a whole party for him. He'd been such a big part of that, and now, three years later, he didn't get to be a part of it at all.

 _That's just the way it has to be,_ she reminded herself as she left the bedroom. She couldn't be thinking about Michael today. Her son turned six just this once, so she wanted to enjoy it.

...

Michael felt like an idiot for not being able to get through to Jake. He wasn't there for every single hour of every single school day, but when he _was_ there, he wasn't making any progress. Monday afternoon, he had to pull Jake out of every single class except for music. Then, for some reason, when the final bell of the day rang, he started throwing a temper tantrum. Just getting his backpack on his shoulders was a major chore. Then getting him out of the SPED room was another challenge. When he saw his mom out in the parking lot, he stopped screaming and ran towards her.

"Bye, Jake," Michael said, feeling completely spent. This kid zapped his energy. He was going to need another massage from Sarah tonight. And maybe a little bit more than that.

When he saw Maria's car pull up in the drop-off/pick-up zone, he perked up a little bit. She got out of the car, smiled, and waved as she approached him. "Hey," she said.

"Hey."

"You look . . ."

"Tired, I know."

"Jake?" she guessed.

"Yep. I just can't find a way to reach him."

"Well, you will," she reassured him as Dylan came out the front doors. "Hey, honey!"

"Mom." He gave her a look.

"What, can I not call you that anymore, _sweetie_?" she teased.

" _Mom._ "

" _Dylan._ "

Michael chuckled and told Dylan, "Hey, man, I love my mom. She can call me whatever she wants."

"Yeah, you hear that?" As if to purposefully embarrass him even further, Maria reached out and gently pinched Dylan's cheeks. He acted like he was annoyed, but he probably wasn't. In a few years, he would be, but he was still young enough to enjoy it.

"Ready to go?" she asked him.

"Oh, hey, wait, I still have his present," he told her. "It's in my car. Can he come with me?"

"Sure," she said. "I'll just go wait at my car."

"Alright, come on, buddy." Michael motioned for Dylan to follow him and took off at a light run for his car. Dylan had to run a lot faster to keep up, but he bounded behind him like a golden retriever.

"What is it?" he asked eagerly.

Michael popped open his trunk, reached inside, and felt around for the gift bag. He took it out, and Dylan's eyes got wider, because the sack was so big. The actual gift itself was smaller, though.

"Alright, hop up here," Michael said, shutting his trunk.

Dylan set his backpack down and tried to crawl up onto the back of the car, but he couldn't make it, so Michael lifted him up and set him down. "Happy birthday," he said, putting the present in his lap. He'd barely hopped up there next to him when Dylan shoved his hands in the bag, sifted through the tissue paper, and took out what was inside.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, taking out a football. And it wasn't just any football, either. It was loaded up with signature after signature of professional players.

"Do you know what those are? Those are autographs," Michael told him. "NFL players."

"NFL?" Dylan echoed in astonishment.

"Yeah." They were most quarterbacks, but there were a few running backs and receivers on there, too. "Look, Drew Brees. Brett Favre—you're too young to know who he is. Tom Brady. He's the best." He had that hot model wife, after all.

"Cool," Dylan said.

"So this football's actually worth a lot of money," Michael told him. "And it'll be worth more and more money the longer you have it. But you can't ever sell it."

"I won't," Dylan promised.

"Do you know where I got that?"

Dylan shook his head.

"From Coach Kyle."

"Really?"

"Yeah. When he got hurt, he didn't want that football anymore, so he gave it to me. And now I'm givin' it to you. 'cause it should be in the hands of a _great_ player."

Dylan smiled proudly.

"You like it?" Michael asked him.

"Yeah. It's awesome."

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. Parting with that football sucked on a personal level, just because _so_ many great players had signed it. But he was happy to let Dylan have it. Maybe someday his autograph would be on there, too.

...

Maria squinted, trying to get a closer look at Michael and Dylan. Their backs were to her, so she couldn't exactly see what they were looking at. But it looked . . . like a football. Which would explain why they were both staring at it like it was the holy grail.

When Dylan came scampering back to her, she realized just what an amazing gift it actually was. It definitely wasn't the kind of football you actually played with. It was the kind you put in a display case or a locked safe or something. There had to be at least twenty different autographs on there.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "This is incredible." She didn't recognize most of the names, only because she wasn't a huge aficionado of the sport. But there were a few that any average person would know. Brett Favre? Seriously?

Dylan took the football back from her and said, "I gotta take care of it," hugging it tightly to his chest.

"Yeah, we'll definitely be taking care of that." She opened up the backdoor for him and motioned for him to get in. Across the parking lot, she met Michael's eyes and shook her head in amazement. And gratitude. This was really probably too nice, the kind of present she shouldn't _let_ Dylan accept. But how could she take it away from him, especially when it was clear that Michael wanted him to have it?

...

"So are you teaching again this semester?"

Alex looked up from the seventh page of _Othello_ , surprised—but also sort of _not_ surprised—to find Isabel in his office. She had a habit of popping up there. And she usually looked lost but beautiful when she did.

"Yeah," he replied, bookmarking his page. He showed her the cover and said, "Shakespeare." It hadn't been his first choice by any means, but it was what they'd needed of him.

"Have you read a lot of Shakespeare?" she asked.

"The major works." _Othello_ was new to him, though. He was hoping his class would get into it because of its exploration of sexuality and jealousy.

"Have you had a lot of time to prepare?" Isabel inquired.

"Not really." He'd found out he would be teaching this class right before Christmas break when the other grad student set to do the job had backed out at last minute.

"Well, you'll figure it out," she said. "You're a good teacher."

"Thanks." He opened up the book again, hoping that she would get the hint. He needed to keep reading.

She didn't get the hint. "So . . . now that I'm not your student anymore, do you wanna go grab some lunch?"

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, trying to figure out what she was up to with him. All last semester, he hadn't been able to pinpoint it. Was she flirting? Making small talk? Was she honestly just so lonely and desperate for companionship that she wouldn't give up on trying to weasel her way back into his life?

"They just opened up a Chinese place in the Student Union," she told him. "Do you wanna go try it?"

"No." He didn't. Not with her. As long as her motives were murky, then he couldn't trust her, couldn't trust that she wasn't just going to use him to make herself feel better.

"Alex," she said softly, looking at him with sad, almost innocent eyes. "I'm just trying to reconnect. Do you know what it's like to have all the people you care about just stop caring?"

"Yeah. My wife cheated on me, remember?"

"Well, imagine that happening over and over again. My mom, my brother, Tess, you, everyone . . . it's like no one even cares anymore."

"Your brother invited you to spend Christmas with him," he pointed out, struggling to feel sympathetic. "You're the one who stormed out on that."

"Yeah, because of Maria."

"No, because of you." He didn't know what had been said between the two of them, and he didn't care. She'd had an opportunity that day, and she'd blown it. Ultimately, she had no one to blame but herself. "I'm sorry, Isabel," he said. "It doesn't matter if I'm not your teacher anymore, or if you're not my student. We're still not gonna go get lunch." He motioned to the door, wanting her to leave. _Needing_ her to leave. Because if she stayed . . . there was always the crazy possibility that he just might change his mind.

...

"So have you even started your paper yet?" Maria asked Michael as the class packed up and started to leave.

"Nope," he said, stretching out in his seat. "I'm gonna do it tonight."

She gave him a skeptical look. He hadn't even started it and it was due in three days?

"It'll be good," he vowed. "Don't worry."

"Oh, I'm not worried; I'm excited," she informed him. "I might finally get a better grade than you."

"Wanna bet?"

"No. Last time we made a bet, I lost."

He immediately got this mischievous look on his face. "Was that the standing sixty-nine?"

She blushed. "Yes."

"That was painful," he recalled, eventually grinning. "But worth it."

"Okay, we should not really stroll down this particular part of memory lane," she cautioned. She and Michael could talk about plenty of things: music, puppies, food. Even Dylan. But not sex. That was too . . . poignant.

"Alright, let's stroll on outta here then," he said, standing up.

"I can't. Billy's looking over my paper," she said, motioning to the front of the auditorium, where Billy was sitting behind on a stool behind the lecture podium, marking up her rough draft. "He's gonna go through it with me."

"Alright," Michael said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "See you . . . Thursday then?"

"Yeah. We'll see if you have your paper done," she teased.

"Oh, A+. It's in the bag." With a cocky but somehow endearing smirk on his face, he said, "See you," and started out of the room.

"Bye." It took a lot not to follow him. She would have loved to hang out with him for a little while, even if that meant sitting out on Plaza Verde and freezing her ass off while he and his friends played Frisbee. But studiousness won out.

She picked up her purse and made her way to the front of the room when the last few students cleared out. "So how bad is it?" she asked Billy.

"Oh, it's not bad at all," he assured her, brushing his dark hair off his forehead. "I got a few pages left, though, so why don't you sit and relax?"

"Okay." She took a seat in the front row, and for the first couple of minutes, she _just_ sat there. But then she started to get bored and impatient, and she found herself watching the clock. This was definitely taking longer than she'd anticipated, but hopefully it would be worth it. Billy wasn't the professor, but as the TA, he was the next best thing.

About ten minutes into waiting, she took out her iPod, put the earbuds in, and listened to a couple of songs. It was mostly relaxing, mellow music that caused her to close her eyes and almost drift off into sleep. Or at least something close to sleep.

"Maria?"

She snapped her eyes open when she heard her name.

"I'm ready now," Billy told her.

She shut off her iPod and put it back in her purse. "Thanks for helping me," she told him in advance as she stood up.

"That's what I'm here for," he said. "Go ahead and pull up that other stool."

She took the stool from behind the front table and moved it next to his, taking a seat. She caught a sight of her paper, and her stomach started to do backflips because of how much red ink was on it. "So what do you think?" she asked him.

"It's a really good start," he told her. "Sixties, huh?"

"Yeah, it was either gonna be that or the fifties. I couldn't decide."

"Yeah? So what swayed you?"

"My favorite song."

"Which is . . .?"

"Um . . ." It felt a little strange to just tell him when she'd made Michael guess at it for months. "'Unchained Melody.'"

"That's a great song," he agreed. "One of my favorites, too."

"Yeah, it's a classic."

"And I really like the way you referenced it here," he said, turning to the second page, "without building your whole argument around it."

"Yeah. I mean, there were a lot of other great songs during that decade, too."

"'California Dreamin'.'"

"Oh my god, I love that one. And pretty much anything by The Beatles, obviously."

"Definitely." He moved her essay slightly aside and angled his whole body towards her. "So what's your story, Maria? Are you hopin' to make a career out of music or is it just a hobby for you?"

"Well . . ." If he'd asked her ten years ago, he would have gotten a completely different answer. "Just a hobby, I guess."

"Do you sing?"

"Yeah." Although that mostly just happened in the shower these days. "Well, I _can_ sing, but I don't really anymore."

"Why not?"

 _Because other things are just more important,_ she thought, surprised that he was taking such an interest. She'd never even talked to him before today. "I think I'd just rather be a music teacher," she said. That would be plenty fulfilling and still allow her to focus on being a good mom. She wasn't about to delve into that with him, though, so she attempted to refocus the conversation. "So what are all these red marks on my essay?"

"I'd love to hear you sing sometime," he blurted.

"Oh." She couldn't picture that happening, and it was a bit surprising that he would take such an interest so quickly. "Well . . . I don't know."

"I should give you my number."

"What?" His _number_?

"I play guitar. We could jam sometime."

" _Oh._ " So he wasn't trying to flirt or anything. It was just about music. "That's really nice of you," she said, "but I'm usually pretty busy."

"Maybe you could find the time," he suggested, setting his hand down right on her leg. She tensed, not sure what he was doing or what he was hinting at. Maybe he _was_ flirting after all? Thankfully he removed his hand quickly so she didn't have to tell him to do so.

"So . . . my essay?" she reminded him. They'd barely even talked about it.

"Right." He handed it over to her and said, "It's a little rough around the edges, but I made some notes to help you out."

"What's rough about it?" she asked.

"Well, the introduction's a little . . ." He trailed off, smiling at her. "I'm sorry, I—I can't even focus," he said. "You're just . . . so pretty."

"Oh, no," she muttered. That pretty much answered the flirting question.

"For months and months now, I've been dyin' to tell you that," he said, leaning a little closer. "Ever since you first walked in this class, I was just like . . . _wow, she's gorgeous._ "

"Oh, god. Um . . ." He was being _very_ forward and direct, which meant she was going to have to be likewise forward and direct when letting him down. "Look, I appreciate the compliment, but it's not gonna happen, Billy."

"Why not?"

"Well, you're my TA for starters," she pointed out, knowing that relationships between TA's and students were prohibited. "But more than that, I'm with someone."

"That guy you're always sittin' next to?"

 _No,_ she thought, but she didn't say it.

"He seems like he's kind of a loser."

"He's not a loser," Maria snapped.

"Doesn't seem like you're a match. I mean, you're in here 'cause you wanna learn about music, but it seems like he's just in here 'cause he wants in your pants."

She stared at him in disbelief, stunned that he had shifted from nice guy to world-class jerk so quickly. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about," she blared. "And what does any of this have to do with my paper anyway?"

"I just . . . wanna see what you can do." He moved in way too close and tried to kiss her.

"Don't," she said, pushing him away.

"Come on." He tried again.

"Stop it." She tried to shove him back again, but this time he got his arms around her waist and tried to pull her closer to him. "No!" she yelped, trying to squirm out of his grasp. The fear set in hard and fast when he wouldn't let go of her. "Stop!"

"Maria . . ."

When one of his hands dove down in between her legs, she screamed, " _Stop it_!" and slammed her whole body against his, knocking him off balance on his stool. She managed to break herself free of his overpowering hold and ran, barely having enough common sense to swipe up her purse as she fled the room.

She felt relieved when she was out in the hallway with other students, but there was still something so fearful about knowing that he was right back there in that room. So she kept running. She burst through the heavy double doors at the front of the building and raced outside, accidentally dropping her essay. She didn't go back for it.

By the time she got to the parking lot, she was out of breath, but fear and panic kept her legs moving. She practically collided with her car, heaving for air as she struggled with trembling fingers to punch the key code in. When she got the door open, the threw herself inside and pressed the lock button right away.

Her adrenaline instantly zapped itself, and she fell forward against the steering wheel, crying hysterically. She felt terrified about what had just happened to her, about what it could have potentially become if she hadn't managed to get him off of her. What if he wouldn't have stopped touching her? Clearly he hadn't been taking no for an answer.

She dug her hands through her hair, sitting up straight, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm herself. _You're okay,_ she told herself. _You're okay. He didn't hurt you._

But he had _scared_ her, and her heart was still pounding from the experience.

 _Get it together,_ she thought, reaching into her purse. She managed to locate her keys, but when she took them out, she noticed just how badly she was shaking.

She gave herself a few more seconds to try to collect herself, and when she was sure she was ready to drive, she put they keys in the ignition and brought the car to life. She drove out of the parking lot fast, hoping that she would feel better once she got home.


	45. Chapter 45

Early that evening, Maria went to bed. But she didn't go to sleep. She curled up on her side, pulled the covers all the way up to her neck, and just lay there, thinking. She must have had at least three blankets and the bedspread draped over her, but she felt cold.

Around 9:30, a sliver of light shone into the room as Max came in. "Finally got Dylan off the Xbox," he said, shutting the door.

 _Dylan . . ._ She'd barely paid attention to him or Max all night, and she felt bad. "So is he asleep then?" she asked.

"He's in bed. Don't know if he's asleep yet." Max peeled back the covers and crawled into bed behind her, his clothes still on. Her body tensed as he moved in close and wrapped his arm around her midsection. She knew he wasn't trying to make her feel uncomfortable, but she felt that way, just because of what had happened today.

He kissed the back of her neck, and then her shoulder, and that was when she felt his hand sliding down her body, trying to slip in between her legs. But she kept them pressed together tightly.

"I don't really feel like doing anything tonight," she told him.

"Oh." Unlike Billy, he didn't proceed. He pulled his hand back and scooted away from her slightly. "That's okay."

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He got back out of bed and headed out of the room. A minute later, she heard the bathroom shower start to run.

A few tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away, determined to not be crying when he came back into the room.

The next day wasn't much better. Maria managed to get some sleep, but when she woke up, the first thing she thought about was Billy. And that disgusted her.

Max seemed to realize that something wasn't quite right, but when he asked her about it, she lied and told him, "I think I'm just coming down with what you had at New Year's." And he agreed that she looked like she was under the weather.

She didn't bother fixing her hair or putting on makeup before driving Dylan to school, and once they were there, she didn't get out of the car to say goodbye to him like she usually did. She just sat in the front seat while he got himself out of his car seat and grabbed is backpack and lunchbox. "Bye, Mom!" he exclaimed, shutting the car door.

"Bye, honey," she whispered, watching him run into the school building. He was excited for whatever the day had in store for him. She wished she felt that way, too.

Around 11:00, she remembered that today was supposed to be her first solo shift at the front desk of one of the dorms. But there was just no way she could sit there and get anything done, so she called Brody, did a few fake coughs, and told him that she was getting sick. He promised her he'd find a replacement.

So that left her on her own at home for the entire afternoon. She laid on the couch and watched TV all day, not really paying much attention to what was on. Max brought Dylan home from school that day, and the two of them immediately gravitated back to the Xbox.

Maria got in the shower that night, starting to feel worried about tomorrow. Today had been . . . morose. But easy. Tomorrow, though, she had class again. And Billy would be there. How was she supposed to walk back into that room? She didn't think she could even look at him without feeling . . .

She shuddered, even though the water falling all over her was warm. As if this whole thing wasn't bad enough on its own, it brought back other memories, things she'd tried to repress over the years.

" _I've never done this before."_

 _"First time for everything."_

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push that image of that man out of her head. James Winston. She hadn't seen him since, but she'd never forget that day.

 _"I don't think I can."_

 _"Relax. You don't have to sleep with me."_

She squirmed, wishing she could just jump out of her own skin for a minute and _not_ remember what it had felt like to watch him unzip his jeans.

 _"I just wanna see what you can do."_

"God!" she screamed, slamming her fist against the wall of the shower. She didn't want Max to hear her and get worried, so when she cried, she made sure to do it quietly. She kept the water running and sank down, sitting in the bathtub, curling her knees up to her chest as the unwanted memory of that creep's cock in her mouth mixed together with the feeling of Billy's hand between her legs.

...

 _Oh god._ With every step forward, Maria thought the same thing. _Oh god, oh god, oh god._

The closer she got to the auditorium, the harder it became for her to breathe. Other people walked past her quickly, and she just barely managed to put one foot in front of the other. She pulled the sleeves of Michael's sweatshirt down over her wrists and held onto them tightly as she neared the door.

When she got close enough, she stopped. Whenever somebody walked in, she caught a glimpse of the room inside. And Billy was there. Right up at the front of the classroom like he always was, getting things prepped for the professor's lecture that day. He looked . . . completely normal. Not worried. Not scared. Not the slightest bit remorseful.

"Hey."

She gasped and jumped when Michael came up behind her. "Oh, Michael," she said. "You scared me." Her heart was racing now, but knowing that it was just him actually helped calm her a little bit.

"Got my paper done," he proclaimed, smirking. "It's good."

She tried to smile, but . . . she just couldn't really do it.

"Are you goin' in," he asked, "or are we just gonna stand out here all day?"

The door opened and closed again as another student walked in, and she caught sight of Billy again. _I can't go in there,_ she thought. _There's no way._

"Maria?" There was a noticeable trace of concern in Michael's voice when he asked, "You okay?"

 _No,_ she thought. _I'm not._

Wordlessly, she grabbed his arm and pulled him back down the hallway to the smaller classroom that was always unlocked. Together, they went in, and she kept the lights off and shut the door.

"What's wrong?" he questioned.

She looked around the room helplessly, feeling like, if she said even one word about this to him, she'd just break down.

"Maria." He got right in front of her and said, "Look at me. Look at me." He held her face with one hand, her arm with the other, his eyes locked onto hers. "What's going on?"

Having his hands on her . . . it didn't make her feel uneasy. It made her feel safe. Protected. "Michael?" she whimpered.

"Maria, you're scarin' me. Talk to me, please."

She gulped nervously, not sure what to say. "I don't wanna go in there."

"Why not?" he asked, slowly lowering his hand from her face. "What happened?" He kept both hands on her arms, though, and for that much, she was grateful.

It was too late to backtrack now. She couldn't dismiss this as nothing. He knew her too well, he'd see right through it. "The other day, when I stayed after to work with Billy . . ." She trailed off, cringing as she said his name.

His grip on her arms tightened momentarily. "Did he do something to you?" And then, as if he were worried he was holding onto her too hard, he let go of her altogether and asked, "Maria, did he hurt you?"

She wrapped her arms around herself, grimacing. "He started coming on to me," she told him, barely talking loudly enough for her even herself to hear. "I didn't think it was a big deal at first, but then he tried to kiss me, and I told him told him to stop, but he kept trying."

Immediately, Michael got this horrified look on his face, like he felt sick to his stomach.

"And he was, like, trying to touch me. He . . ." She stopped and shuddered. "He put his hand between my legs."

"Oh my god, Maria."

"But I pushed him away fast, and I just ran out of there."

"So you got away?" he asked, his voice wavering with emotion.

"Yeah, I got away." She shivered, thankful that it hadn't been worse than it was. "I don't know what his intentions were or what it would have amounted to . . ."

"It doesn't matter," Michael cut in.

"It was just . . . uncomfortable."

"Well, yeah, 'cause he was forcing himself on you, Maria." Both his hands clenched into fists, and he shook his head angrily, growling, "That son of a bitch."

"I just needed to tell someone," she squeaked out. She hadn't known it would be him. Although . . . maybe she should have. She was wearing his sweatshirt, after all, like it was her shield of armour.

"You haven't told anyone else?" he said incredulously.

"No."

"Not even Max?"

She shook her head, blinking back tears. "I don't want him to know."

"But you have to tell someone," Michael said. "He can't just get away with this."

"I know, but I don't want it to blow up and become this big thing." She just wanted it to be over.

"It _is_ a big thing, Maria. What he did was wrong. Nobody should ever do that to you."

"It just . . . it just made me remember . . ." She trailed off, whimpering, knowing it wasn't necessary to say more for him to understand.

"Come here, come here," he said, pulling her back into his arms. He hugged her tightly, and she put her hands on her chest, resting her head against him as the tears began to fall instantly. She just couldn't hold them in anymore. Her eyes were like a dam that had burst, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Shh," he soothed, stroking her hair.

"Michael . . ." For the first time in two days, she felt safe and warm and comfortable. She didn't want to leave that room. She didn't want to let go of him.

"I'm gonna take care of this for you," he whispered against her hair. "Okay?"

"No, you don't—you don't have to do anything," she said, pulling back just enough so that she could look up at him.

"Are you kidding? Of course I do," he persisted. "I'm not gonna let anyone make you feel this way, _ever_."

This hadn't been her intention, though, to get him wrapped up in this, to get him so involved. This was her problem to deal with, not his.

"Maybe he would've stopped," she speculated, worried that she was already making a bigger deal out of this than it needed to be.

"No, no, don't do that," Michael said. "Don't give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Maybe I did something or said something to lead him on."

"No, Maria, listen to me." He grabbed hold of her shoulders and gently shook her, as if to shake some sense into her. "Don't you _dare_ blame yourself. You didn't do anything wrong."

As much as she knew that . . . she still wondered if she could have prevented it in any way. Maybe if she hadn't allowed Billy to get her side-tracked and start talking about singing . . . maybe she'd been too friendly to him.

"Go home," Michael told her suddenly. "I'll handle this."

"What're you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna confront him, put some fear in him, get him to step down from being a TA."

She nodded dazedly, liking the sound of that. As long as she didn't have to sit in that classroom for another semester with him in it, then she would be fine. "He thinks you're my boyfriend," she made sure to tell Michael.

"That's fine. Let him think that."

She sighed shakily, feeling . . . useless. Pathetic. But as much as she hated being the damsel in distress, there was something comforting about the thought of being taken care of for a change, and being taken care of by _Michael_ especially.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay. Go home. I'll stop by later."

"I can wait here for you-" she started to offer.

"Maria." He stared at her for a few long, drawn-out seconds. That look in his eyes . . . he looked like he was about to get choked up about everything himself. "Go."

 _I don't wanna leave you,_ was all she could think. _I don't wanna leave._

Eventually, they walked out of the classroom, though. He held her hand. But then he had to go left, and she had to go right, so their hold loosened. Ever so slowly, her hand fell from his, and he turned his back to her and headed towards the classroom. And even though it had taken every ounce of strength and determination in her body to get there in the first place, now it took every ounce to leave.

...

Class had already started. Michael didn't give a fuck. His eyes locked onto Billy the moment he entered the room. He prowled down the back row, taking his usual seat, but it didn't feel right without Maria sitting next to him.

He plucked at his shirt, noticing that it was still damp. From her tears.

 _Oh, Maria . . ._

He paid no attention to whatever they were discussing. All he could think about was one thing. And all he could feel was one thing.

Rage.

That bastard didn't even look back at him. He made jokes with the professor that everyone else in the classroom laughed at. But Michael just kept glaring at him, hating him.

What the hell made him think he could do that to a girl? And not just any girl, but _Maria._

He didn't want to picture it, but his mind went there, imagining what it must have been like for her. How afraid she must have been. It made his blood feel like it was boiling, and then he started to feel something else, too.

Guilt.

If he had just stayed with Maria and waited for her, then none of this would have happened. He could have prevented it just by being there.

The class dragged by, and Michael never started feeling any better. The longer he sat there, the angrier he got, and the guiltier he started to feel. He felt it all swarming around inside of him, churning in the pit of his stomach, rising up like lava.

As if this whole thing wasn't bad enough, it had brought back memories of the past for her, too. He knew exactly what that past was, because he was the only one she'd ever told. He didn't want to think about it, either, but now that this had happened . . . it all just came flooding back.

He remembered seeing her and Dylan walking down the sidewalk at night, both of them tired. Confused. He remembered driving her to his house and telling her to come inside, not knowing what was wrong with her, but still knowing that _something_ was wrong.

" _I feel . . . disgusting. And ashamed."_

It still made his skin crawl to think back on that conversation, the one where she'd told him about what she'd done to James Winston. And why she'd done it.

" _Can you believe it? I gave him head and he gave me a hundred bucks. Like I'm just a whore."_

He winced.

 _"You're not a whore."_

 _"I exchanged sexual favors for money. That's pretty much the definition of a whore."_

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that stuff like this happened to her. She was a good person; she didn't deserve any of it.

The saddest part was . . . he'd been too late to save her from the experience back then. And he was too late this time, too. If he could have, he would have gone back in time and done anything to stop it from happening. But since he couldn't, he was going to have to settle for defending her now. Better late than fucking never.

At last, the class ended, and people got up and started to leave. But Michael stayed seated, biding his time. He waited until most everyone was gone, then got up and stalked to the front of the classroom before Billy could leave with them. "Hey!" he called. "I wanna talk to you."

That instant look of alarm in Billy's eyes was obvious. "About what?"

"What do you think? My paper," Michael lied easily.

"Oh." Billy's whole body visibly relaxed. "Of course."

 _Of course._ Michael smirked inwardly. This motherfucker wasn't going to know what hit him.

"Do you have a copy of it?" Billy asked.

"Not with me." He watched as the last few students walked out the door, and the professor waved at Billy as he went out behind them.

Billy waved back and then returned his attention to Michael. "Uh, I don't know how much help I'll be then," he said. "You could email it to me."

"Yeah, I could do that," he mumbled, looking around once more to make sure it was only the two of them left in there now.

"Is that all then?" Billy asked. " 'cause I got somewhere I need to be."

"No," Michael said. "No, you don't."

Billy gave him a curious look, as if he were trying to decipher what was going on here. As if he didn't already know. This bastard was just playing dumb, delaying the inevitable.

"I know what you did to Maria," Michael blurted. "She told me."

"Maria?" Billy echoed. Pretending like he didn't know her, he said, "Oh, she's your girlfriend, right? The one who sits back there with you?"

Michael didn't say anything.

Unbelievably, Billy had the audacity to laugh. "What did I do to her?"

"Don't even fuckin' try to deny it," Michael warned. He was teetering dangerously close to the edge of violence, and it was taking all of his self-restraint not to just slam this guy's face onto the floor.

"I don't know what I did," Billy insisted. "Honest."

"Oh, you sick son of a bitch," Michael grumbled. "She _told_ me. You tried to force yourself on her!"

"What?" Billy shrieked. "Is that—is that what she told you? No way. I'd never do that."

"I swear to God, if you don't fucking admit it . . ."

"Admit what? Am I into her? Yeah. I think she's a really hot girl. And when she was here the other day, we just started talkin' about music and shit, and . . . I don't know, I thought there was a connection. So I went for it; I tried to kiss her. But she didn't reciprocate, so then I backed off."

"Oh, you backed off, huh?" Michael said. "Yeah, like _hell_ you backed off!" He took a few steps forward, and Billy took a few back, as if he were intimidated. "You didn't _fucking_ back off and you know it! You put your hands on her!"

"I'm not some rapist, alright? Don't stand here and make me out to be some predator."

"That's what you are!" Michael roared.

"No, I didn't do anything wrong," Billy insisted, sticking to his story. "Maybe she's just tellin' you a different version 'cause she's embarrassed."

"Or maybe she was too scared to even walk in here today 'cause of what _you_ did to her," Michael accused. "I'm not gonna let you get away with this. You can't do that to her and just act like you didn't do anything."

"So what do you want from me, huh?" Billy spat. "You want me to apologize for somethin' I didn't even do?"

"No, I want you to step down as TA, and leave Maria the hell alone," Michael demanded.

"And what if I don't?" Billy challenged. "What if I don't step down?"

"Then I'll make you step down."

"Ooh." Billy laughed, a false bravado. "Look at you, tough guy. Aren't you her knight in shining armor?"

"That's right." He'd always be that for her, whenever she needed him to be.

"Well, I'm not steppin' down," Billy told him decidedly. "I wanna teach this damn class someday. This is good experience for me. So I'm here to stay."

 _No, you're not,_ Michael thought. If talk wasn't working . . . there were other ways to get this creep to agree. He hadn't wanted to resort to them, but if he had to . . . "You motherfucking bastard."

"I'm not throwin' my opportunities away just 'cause some bitch is draggin' my name through the mud."

"What'd you call her?" Michael bellowed.

"You heard me."

Michael moved even closer, feeling the anger rising, threatening to explode. "Go to hell, Billy," he ground out.

"Save me a seat," Billy retorted. "And while you're at it, maybe you should save another seat for your little whore."

That did it. Michael swung and hit Billy in the face so hard that it sent him stumbling backward, and immediately blood started pouring from his nose. Giving him no time to recover, Michael grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him back against the white board, pressing his forearm hard against his throat to keep him pinned there.

"If you _ever_ call her that again, I'll fucking _kill_ you," he threatened, fuming. He socked Billy one more time, this time in the stomach, eliciting a strangled, pained cry, and then slammed him back against the board again. He cried out as his head hit.

Michael took a few steps back, getting control of himself, and looked down at his right hand. His knuckles were red, and one them was scraped and bleeding.

Hobbled over, Billy glowered at him and vowed, "You're gonna pay for this."

The reality of the situation suddenly dawned on Michael, hit him like a grenade. This guy had a bloody nose because of him, maybe even a concussion or broken ribs. He hadn't hit him much, but he'd sure as hell hit him hard. He hadn't done anything like this in a long, long time.

But he'd do it again.

"You hear me?" Billy kept challenging. "You're gonna pay."

 _Oh, shit,_ he thought. What if this did come back to bite him in the ass? He could have just majorly screwed up everything for himself now.

Didn't fucking matter, though. Not when Maria was involved.

Even though he wanted to give in to impulse and just wail on the guy, he forced himself to turn and walk away. He'd gotten his point across. Hadn't he?

...

Michael reassured himself on the drive over to Maria's house that Billy's threat was meaningless. _You're gonna pay for that?_ Yeah, right. Billy was a musician, not a fighter, and he didn't seem like the type of guy who would have meathead friends. No, physically, he had nothing to worry about. He could hold his own against anyone.

But . . . there were other ways to make him pay, too, ways sanctioned by the college. Ways that could fuck him up a lot more than any fist fight could.

 _Whatever._ He dismissed it, determined not to worry. None of that mattered. All that mattered to him right now was making sure Maria was okay.

He knocked on her door, then said, "Maria, it's me."

She opened the door a few seconds later, looking relieved to see him. "Hey."

"Hey." He stepped inside and asked her right away, "How you doin'?"

"Better," she replied. "I think."

She looked better to him. Her eyes weren't red or puffy, so at least she hadn't been crying.

"Did you talk to him?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"What'd he say?"

Michael snorted, too pissed off to recount every single thing he'd said. "He denied it."

"Of course." She sighed frustratedly. "Well, what's gonna happen now?"

 _I have no idea,_ he thought, but he wanted to give her a more concrete reassurance. "You don't have to worry about him anymore."

"So—so does that mean he's stepping down as TA?" she sputtered.

 _No. I don't know. Maybe._ "Yeah."

Her eyes sparkled with a hopefulness that almost killed him. "Really? Are you sure?"

 _No._ "He's gonna step down," Michael promised. If he had to the beat the guy down to get him to agree to it, he'd fucking do it.

"Because that's all I really want," she said. "I just want him to step down, and then I never have to see him again, and then the whole thing can just be over."

"It's over," he assured her. Even though it wasn't, it'd make her feel better to think of it that way.

"So then can I just . . . can I just show up to class tomorrow then?" she asked him. "I mean, if he's not gonna be there . . ."

Knowing that he might very well still be there, Michael squashed that idea. "Just stay home," he advised. "You've had a rough week. Take the day off. Relax."

"But I don't wanna get too far behind."

"It's just class, Maria." Tomorrow, he'd go by himself, and if Billy was there . . . well, he'd up the ante. If two punches didn't work, then maybe ten would.

"Okay," she said. "Thank you, Michael."

He didn't feel like he deserved her thanks yet.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"Why?" She was the last person on earth who needed to be apologizing.

"I didn't mean to drag you into this. I should be able to solve my own problems."

"Hey." He picked up both of her hands, holding them securely in his own. He knew he was touching her a lot today, probably too much, but she seemed to be comforted by the contact. "Don't ever feel like you can't come to me. I'll be there for you, whenever you need me."

"What happened?" she asked suddenly, tilting his right hand towards her to get a better look.

 _Oh, crap,_ he thought. His hand . . . his knuckles . . . He quickly pulled it away from her. "It's fine," he said.

"Michael, what did you do?" she asked, alarmed.

"Nothing."

She just kept looking at him inquisitively.

"Alright, fine, I hit him a couple times," he admitted.

"You _hit_ him?"

"Well, what was I supposed to do? If you heard some of the shit he was saying . . ." Just thinking about it made him want to sock the guy again, and do more damage this time.

"Michael, you could get in trouble for this."

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Don't worry about me."

"But what if he presses charges? People get expelled for this sort of thing, Michael."

"I've been expelled before," he said nonchalantly.

"Yeah, in high school. This is different."

He knew that. He knew it was all different, and he knew something like this could really blow up what he had going for him in college. But he wasn't going to stress out about it. At least not in front of her. "Just don't worry," he repeated. "I got it under control."

"Just don't do anything impulsive, okay?" she begged. "Don't hit him again."

He . . . wasn't going to make any promises on that.

She gazed at him earnestly and said, "I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"Nothing's gonna happen," he reassured her quickly. "Just . . . don't worry about me." That was the last thing he wanted her to do.

She sighed heavily, as if she were already worrying.

"Call me if you need anything, alright?" he told her, reaching behind himself for the doorknob.

She nodded. "Okay."

"Okay." He didn't want to go, but he had to. He was scheduled to work today, in about ten minutes, actually. And after that, he was going to have to do something about this hand of his to make sure Sarah didn't worry, either.

...

Michael's knuckles were full-on bruising in the afternoon. His whole hand hurt. Even though it had just been one punch to the face, it had been a _hell_ of a punch.

He ended up using Sarah's makeup to conceal the bruising. It was just the right shade, and he was thinking that if he kept his right hand hidden enough that night, she wouldn't even notice. And once tomorrow rolled around, hopefully the bruising wouldn't be so bad.

"Michael, are you home?"

He was just finishing up his makeup masterpiece when Sarah walked in the front door. He quickly put her . . . foundation? Was that what it was called? Whatever it was, he set it right back down where it had been on the counter and headed out of the bathroom to go see her. "Hey."

"Hey," she said, slipping her shoes off. She veered straight into the kitchen, groaning, "Oh, I'm _so_ hungry. I had to skip lunch today."

He curled up and stretched out his fingers when she wasn't looking, carefully inspecting the makeup. Damn, it was fading fast. He was going to have to reapply in an hour. Girls must have had a different technique to make it last on their faces.

"How was your day?" she asked him as she searched through the refrigerator.

"Oh, it was . . ." He honestly didn't have words to describe what this day had been like for him. He didn't have to come up with them anyway, because his phone rang on the coffee table.

"Your mom?" she guessed.

He walked over to the table and picked up his phone. No, not his mom. A number he didn't recognize, but it was local.

 _Shit,_ he thought, sensing that this wouldn't be good. He answered it anyway. "Hello?"

"Michael Guerin?"

He turned away from Sarah so she wouldn't see him gulp. "Yeah, who is this?" It didn't sound like Billy, but he still had a bad feeling.

"This is the Dean of Discipline."

And that would be why. His stomach clenched.


	46. Chapter 46

"So Ronnie weighs about three-hundred pounds, and he can't get out of the bed by himself, and I'm the only person there who actually gets along with him, so whenever he needs anything, even if it's just to get up and go to the bathroom, I'm the one who has to help him. I had to practically carry him in there all by myself."

"Wow," Michael said. Normally, he'd be impressed by Sarah's story, but today . . . there were just other things on his mind.

"And Cindy's our new patient. She doesn't have a room there, but she's coming in every other day of the week . . ."

He dazed out on their conversation, because it was so one-sided that it wasn't really much of a conversation at all, and he tried to think how he was going to get to the administration building without her realizing it. Her class was in the same direction as that building, so that meant he'd have to walk off in the direction of the psych building instead, then double back in a couple minutes.

It was ridiculous to be keeping all of this a secret from her, and he knew it. But until he knew for sure what was going on, he just thought he should deal with it himself. Maybe it wasn't going to be that big of a deal. Maybe it was something neither she nor Maria would ever have to know about.

 _Who am I kidding?_ he thought. The freaking _Dean_ of _Discipline_ had made a personal call to him last night and arranged their meeting this morning. It _was_ a big deal. Before this, he hadn't even known that there was a Dean of Discipline. The eighteen year old version of him probably would have been on a first-name basis with the guy by now, but the twenty-one year old version had no idea what he was getting into.

"Michael?" Sarah said, slowing her pace. "Are you even listening to me?"

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Never mind. I'll see you later." She angled her cheek to the side, and he gave her a kiss.

Slowly, he headed in the direction of his class, taking the path he normally would have taken to get there. But he walked extra slowly, and eventually he turned back around and went to the administration building instead. It was a huge network of offices and departments in there, and it took him a good ten minutes just to get where he needed to be. He had to fill out a few forms just to document that he was actually there, and once he turned those in, an assistant led him to a cold, prison-esque back room. Sitting in there waiting for him was a middle-aged man in a suit, a woman who looked like Hillary Clinton 2.0, and a guy who looked like he was still in college. They were each stoic and stern, like Supreme Court judges sitting behind a long table.

"Have a seat," the assistant told him.

"Do I have to?" he joked. No one cracked a smile.

He sat down on the opposite side of the table as his executioners—that was seriously what they looked like—and waited for them to say something. The middle-aged man in the center spoke first, and Michael recognized his voice from the phone call. So he was the dean.

"Mr. Guerin, thank you for coming," he said. "This is Jeanette Mitchell, associate dean," he said, gesturing to the woman on his right. "And this is Ben Harper, student representative on the disciplinary committee."

"We have a disciplinary committee?" Michael asked. Oh, this did not look good.

"The disciplinary committee handles acts of student misconduct," the dean explained. "The reason why we're meeting with you today is to discuss an allegation of physical violence brought to us by a student named Billy Darden."

Michael rolled his eyes, already having to censor himself. Because he felt like screaming that this was bullshit.

"Are you aware of the incident he brought to our attention?"

"Yeah." He wasn't going to lie or play dumb. No, he'd own up to it, because he hadn't done anything wrong. "I hit him yesterday, twice. Face and stomach. He deserved it."

"And why did you hit him?" the dean asked, he and his colleagues all taking notes.

"Because he's the son of a bitch who tried to force himself on my . . ." He stopped himself before referring to Maria as his girlfriend. "My friend."

"And when you say _force_. . ." The dean trailed off, as if he were urging him to expand. But what the hell was there to expand on?

"I mean _force._ He had his hands on her. It freaked her out. She had to shove him off and run away from him."

"And how did you come to learn of this alleged incident?" the dean asked.

"It wasn't alleged; it happened," he corrected vehemently. "She told me."

"And who is this girl?"

He fell silent, reluctant to reveal anything about Maria's part in this. "I can't say," he mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"I can't say. I won't." Maria had said numerous times that she didn't want this escalating and becoming a big deal. He just wanted to keep her out of it.

"Mr. Guerin, it would help us to know who this girl is," the dean explained. "Without her testimony, it's simply Mr. Darden's word against yours."

"Well, then that's what it'll be, 'cause I'm not gettin' her involved." He was dead set on that. They weren't going to get him to change his mind.

The dean sighed. "Very well," he said. "Can you at least explain to us your relationship with her?"

He didn't even want to give them that much information, but if he didn't give them something, then he was sunk. "Billy thinks she's my girlfriend, but she's not. She's my ex-girlfriend," he told them. "Ex-fiancée, actually. And I still care about her a lot, so when she told me what happened, I wasn't just gonna sit back and do nothing."

"So you confronted Mr. Darden."

What was up with this _Mr._ shit? Billy didn't deserve the respect of putting that in front of his name. "Yeah, I told him to stay the hell away from her and step down as a TA in our class."

"And why did you hit him?"

"Oh, I don't know, probably because he called her a whore."

More note-taking. No change in facial expressions, though. Were they really so stone-cold that they wouldn't be the least bit sympathetic about this?

"Do you recall what you said to him after you hit him?" the dean inquired.

Michael had been so caught up in the rage he'd been feeling, he couldn't remember word for word. But still . . . he remembered. And now Billy was probably leveraging that against him. "Yeah, I said I'd kill him if he ever called her that again."

That admission and that admission alone finally was enough to get a reaction out of the associate dean and the student representative. Her eyes got bigger. His eyebrows shot up.

"It's just an expression," Michael said. "I'm not actually gonna-"

"But those were the words that left your mouth?" the dean cut in.

He sighed frustratedly, damned if he told the truth and damned if he didn't. "Yeah."

Feverish note-taking now. Great.

"Look, I'm not gonna apologize for what I did," Michael openly announced. "I don't regret it. He had no right to do what he did to her. He's the student misconduct you should be looking into, not me."

"Well, Mr. Guerin, you see, the problem is, the two stories you're telling us are radically different. Mr. Darden has made no acknowledgments of any sexual misconduct on his part."

Michael grunted. "Of course not. Why would he?"

"And unless your friend comes forward and gives us her account of what happened . . ."

"Unbelievable," Michael muttered. "So he's just gonna get away with it?"

"We'll investigate this incident from all possible angles," the dean vowed. "But I need you to understand that the consequences for your actions are very serious. Physical harassment _and_ a verbal threat is not something we take lightly."

"Yeah, what about sexual harassment?" he countered. "You seem to take that pretty lightly."

Ignoring that jab, the dean said, "I'm afraid I have no choice but to suspend you from all academic and athletic activity here at the university until our investigation reaches its conclusion."

Michael's brows shot upward. "Suspend?" he echoed. Well, it was better than expulsion, but it still sucked. "So I can't go to class?"

"No, you may not," the dean confirmed.

"What about Billy? Is he just gettin' off scot-free?"

"Mr. Darden has agreed to temporarily relinquish his duties as a TA while we sort out this matter," the dean replied in an even, steady tone, "but since he was the one who brought this complaint to us, he will be allowed to maintain his normal academic activities."

Michael shook his head in disgust. God dammit, he'd handled this all wrong. He never should have gone and confronted Billy about it; he should have gone straight to this guy. Clearly it didn't really matter who was right or who was wrong. It only mattered who got to him and told his side of the story first.

"Now let me emphasize, as of right now, this is a _temporary_ suspension," reiterated the dean, "the length of which has yet to be determined. But do consider yourself on an unofficial probation, Mr. Guerin. Any further displays of violence or aggression will severely damage your chances of remaining at the university."

"So what's gonna happen to me then?" Michael questioned heatedly. "Am I gonna get expelled or what?"

"Expulsion is the most serious punishment given as a result of student misconduct," the dean informed him, "and _can_ be given for incidents of this nature. Punishment will depend on the results of our investigation into this matter."

"Investigation." Michael felt a lump forming in the back of his throat. It all sounded so . . . official. This was a big deal. "Do I need a lawyer here or what?"

"You're not in a courtroom, Mr. Guerin," the dean pointed out.

"Yeah, well, it feels like I'm on a trial."

"If I were to advise you on a course of action . . . I would talk to the young lady involved in this incident, get her to come forward and validate your story. That would certainly help us flesh out the details of this case."

Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew he could do that, and he knew Maria _would_ do that for him. But she'd trusted him with this, told him about it when she hadn't told anyone else. And he'd promised that he would take care of it for her, so that was exactly what he was going to do.

"Would you like to give us her name?" the dean asked him again, apparently expecting that he would get an answer this time.

Michael knew his ass was on the line here, but nothing in the world was going to get him to betray her trust. So his answer was simple: "No."

...

If anyone could help him deal with this crap, Michael figured it would be Kyle. So after he finished up with the disciplinary committee, he drove straight over to his friend's house and wasted no time getting into it. "I'm in deep shit," he blurted right when Kyle opened the front door.

He told him the full story of what had happened, because if there was anyone he could trust not to tell anyone else, it was Kyle. Pacing around the living room, he got worked up as he recounted every detail, every damn thing Billy had said yesterday, everything the dean had said today. When he was through, Kyle looked like he was at a loss for words.

"Uh . . . wow," he breathed. " _Wow_."

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"Sounds pretty bad," Kyle agreed. "So this could really happen? You could really get kicked out?"

"I guess." He was really hoping it wouldn't come to that.

"Well, that can't happen," Kyle said. "You can't let that happen. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I know." There was no chance in hell he was going to downplay what he did or his reasons for doing it. "But here I am, fuckin' owning up to everything I did, and Billy's just lyin' about shit, actin' like he didn't even lay a hand on her."

"Well, you gotta prove that he did," Kyle told him. "And once you do, then I don't think anyone would have a problem understanding why you hit him. They'd applaud you for it."

"Yeah, but . . ." Michael kept pacing around the living room, agitated, frustrated. "I can't prove anything."

"Sure you can," Kyle said.

"How?"

Kyle gave him a look. "Bro . . ."

Michael shook his head. "No, no way." He knew what Kyle was suggesting, and he wasn't going down that road.

"You heard the dean. You gotta get Maria to come forward about this. She's the only one who can back up everything you're saying."

"No, I promised her that I'd take care of it and that it'd just be over," he protested. "So it is, for her."

"Dude, she'd wanna know."

"No." He was adamant about this, and he wasn't going to change his mind. "Don't—don't tell her, alright? I don't wanna get her involved. I'll handle this."

"How are you gonna do that?"

"I don't know, I'll just find a way."

Kyle sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I think this is a mistake," he bemoaned.

"Look, I didn't come here for this, alright? I need—I need your advice," Michael told him.

"That was my advice. Get Maria involved. You didn't wanna hear it."

"Well, then, give me some other advice." This was what they used to do all the time. Back in high school, he'd always been getting himself into trouble, and Kyle had always been there to help him out of it. He just needed that to happen again.

"I don't know what else to do," Kyle admitted. "I guess just . . . be as cooperative as possible? Don't backtrack on anything you said, 'cause you already owned up to it."

"I'm not gonna backtrack," he mumbled.

"And just . . . I don't know, you gotta try to get them to understand that this isn't typical for you and the only reason you did it is 'cause of . . . well, Maria."

"Yeah." He could do that, get them to understand that much. He could tell them how her whole body had shaken while she'd cried in his arms. He could tell them how she'd been standing outside the classroom, too afraid to walk in. He could tell them all about how this whole thing had made her feel without ever saying her name or getting her involved in any way.

"It's gonna be alright," he pep-talked himself. "It's gonna work out."

"I hope so," Kyle said. "And listen, I won't say anything, not even to Tess, but . . . man, you gotta tell Sarah."

Michael immediately bristled at the idea. "No."

"You have to," Kyle insisted. "She's your girlfriend; she has a right to know. If this doesn't go your way and your temporary suspension becomes a permanent one . . . that affects her, too. You can't keep this from her."

He wanted to, though. He didn't want her to know any more than he wanted Maria to know. But then again . . . he'd asked for Kyle's advice. And now that his friend was up out of that wheelchair and not so depressed anymore, he was probably in a lot better position to give it.

...

Telling Sarah was hard. A lot harder than telling Kyle. Michael had to wait until she got home that night to sit her down on the couch and have that conversation, but even with an entire afternoon to prepare . . . he didn't know what to say.

She sat there in silence after he'd finished, taking it all in. She didn't yell or cry or get panicked, but there was a definite look of worry in her eyes. When she finally said something, it was typical Sarah, though, selfless and compassionate. "I feel so bad for Maria."

 _Yes,_ he thought. His only regret about the way he'd handled things with Billy was that it was taking attention off the real issue here.

"That's so awful," Sarah sympathized. "I can't even imagine how scared she must have been."

"I know." It broke his damn heart to imagine it.

"Thank God she's okay," Sarah said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes as tears started to build up. "No girl should ever have to go through that."

"Nope," he agreed. "I'd do the same for you or Tess or Tina. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I know." She reached over and put her hands on his, surprising him when she told him, "I am so _proud_ of you, Michael, that you would stand up for her like that."

"Really?" He hadn't expected that reaction.

"Yes. You defended her, and that was the right thing to do. I could never be mad at you for being a good guy like that."

He sensed she wasn't _just_ going to be proud of him, though. She still looked concerned. "But?"

"But . . ." She sighed, grimacing. "Oh, Michael, you should've thought things through better. Instead of hitting him, you could've told your professor. Or you could've tried to convince Maria to tell someone. You could've let the college handle this instead of taking matters into your own hands."

"I was just so angry," he admitted. Sarah didn't know this side of him that well, the side that was impulsive and hot-heated and reckless. It wasn't a side of him that came out much anymore. In fact, the last time it had, Max had been his punching bag.

"I get why you were angry," she said, squeezing his hands in hers. "I'm angry about it, too. But now, even though you were just trying to help, you're in this really bad situation. And instead of this TA guy getting punished for what happened, you might be the one who suffers the consequences."

"It's just a temporary suspension right now," Michael assured her. "It'll probably last a week, tops."

"But what if it lasts longer?" she fretted, her mouth trembling with worry now.

"It won't. It's gonna be fine." He wished he could believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth, but he was worried, too. The last thing he wanted was for her to stress out about it, though, or start envisioning the worst, so he tried to downplay the severity of the situation as much as he could. "The dean was pretty responsive to everything I was saying, so . . . I think he's gonna see things my way," he told her.

"You think so?"

"Yeah." _Hopefully._ "And I've got a good track record as a student here, so the chances of anything _really_ bad happening to me are slim."

"Slim?" she echoed.

"Yeah. I just gotta cooperate with everything, and it'll get sorted out, and then it'll all blow over."

She breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Oh, that makes me feel better."

"Good," he said. As long as she felt better, then he felt better, too.

...

Michael tossed and turned all night. He felt bad, because he knew he was probably keeping Sarah awake, but he just couldn't seem to sleep for more than half an hour at a time. Eventually, when he sensed that morning was setting in, he chanced a glance at the bedside clock, and indeed, it was 6:34 a.m. _Way_ too early to get up on a Saturday.

As he was debating whether or not to keep lying there or get up and get in the shower, his phone rang, as if to force him up. He reached over onto the nightstand and grabbed it, expecting to see his mom calling, because she was an early riser. But it was Maria's name on the screen instead.

"Who is it?" Sarah moaned tiredly.

"Just Kyle," he said, getting out of bed. "I'm gonna go outside." He made his way through their dark apartment, answering the phone right as he slipped out into the hall, right before it kicked onto voicemail. "Hey."

"Hey," Maria returned. "Sorry if I'm waking you up."

"No, I was awake," he told her.

"I didn't mean to call so early. I just . . . I couldn't stop thinking about you last night."

He smirked and managed to joke, "I'm sure that's not the first time."

"Ha, ha," she deadpanned. "No, seriously, I wanted to check in and . . . see how things were going."

"Oh . . . they're going." No need to elaborate any more than that.

"So was . . . was Billy in class yesterday?" she asked nervously. "Or not?"

Michael remembered what the dean had told him about Billy stepping down as TA while this whole investigation was underway, so for now, he felt confident telling her, "No. He wasn't."

"Oh, good," she said. "So it worked then? He's gone?"

"Yeah." Hopefully if everything went the way they wanted it to, he would stay that way.

"So then I can go back to class on Tuesday."

"Yeah, you can." He regretted that he wouldn't be able to go with her, but he couldn't break the rules of his suspension. He had to be on his best behavior, and that meant he was going to have to tell a few lies to Maria in the process. He hated doing that.

"And everything's gonna be okay for you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I told you not to worry about me, remember? I'm fine."

"Thank God," she said. "I'm _so_ glad. I'm so glad this isn't dragging itself out. It's just . . . over."

He swallowed hard, wishing it was over for him. "Yep."

"And I'm starting to feel a lot better now," she told him, "like my regular self, you know? Now that . . . well, now that things are getting back to normal again."

 _Then that's all that matters,_ he thought. Dealing with all of this was nothing as long as it helped her move forward, as long as it helped her get past what Billy had done. If she got back to normal, then it was worth it.

"Thank you so much, Michael," she told him, her voice barely a whisper. But he still heard her loud and clear. "I can't believe you did all this for me."

"I'd do it all again," he told her quickly. And he meant it. Without a doubt. Even if he ended up in this same lousy situation every single time, there wasn't a chance he would ever sit back and _not_ defend her. He cared about her way too much.

...

On Monday, Michael got called back in to meet with the Dean of Discipline. It wasn't for a conversation this time, though. They needed him to provide a written account of 'the incident,' as they kept referring to it. Apparently Billy had already provided one.

He sat down in the same room where they had questioned him, alone this time, just a pencil and paper in front of him. He wrote slowly, carefully, stopping often to re-read each paragraph. He just wanted to make sure he wasn't sounding like a violent jackass and that he was painting a clear enough picture of just _why_ he'd lashed out.

He didn't sugarcoat it. He wrote exactly what Maria had said to him. _He put his hand between her legs. She had to push him off of her, and she managed to run away. She had to run out of that room because she was so scared. Because he wouldn't stop. What kind of person does that?_

At several points during the writing process, he started to feel that familiar rage again, and he wanted to get up and throw a chair at the wall. But he forced himself to remain calm and quiet, because throwing things really wouldn't help with the persona he was trying to project.

When he was done, it was three pages long, and the only thing he left out was Maria's name. The dean's assistant was the one who took his paper from him, and she sealed it in a manila envelope right away and thanked him for coming in.

And that was it. For now, at least. The investigation continued on, though, and the next time they needed something from him, they'd call him.

When he walked back out into the brisk January air, he felt . . . out of place. For the first time ever, he felt like he didn't quite belong on that campus. All around him, other students were walking to and from class, and he was just standing there, unable to do anything but work for housing and sit and wait. And the longer this dragged on, the more anxious he became about what he was waiting for.

...

Walking back into Lecuona Hall was slightly nerve-wracking for Maria, but at the same time, it felt . . . empowering. It was nice to not have to cower at home anymore, to know that what happened to her last time she'd been in that classroom wasn't going to happen again. Part of her wished she was just inherently strong enough to overcome the situation on her own, but she hadn't been, and that was fine, too. Because Michael had given her some of his strength, and now she felt like it was a new beginning for her.

She waited outside the big double doors of the auditorium for a few minutes, just to see if he would show up. But maybe he was already in there. Today of all days, he'd probably gotten there early.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way inside. The first thing she noticed was the conspicuous absence of Billy at the front of the classroom. He always showed up before the professor did in order to make sure that everything was ready to go for the day. But the professor was the only one there today, and he was getting everything ready on his own.

She smiled, the last bit of nerves dissolving from her body. And there was only relief left in its place.

Surprisingly, Michael wasn't there yet, though. She sat down in her usual seat, waiting for him, picturing the smile that would be on _his_ face when he walked in and saw her sitting there confidently, happily. But person after person walked in, and not one of them was him.

"Okay, we're gonna go ahead and get started," the professor announced, and immediately the class quieted down. "First off, I wanted to let you all know that I began grading your essays this weekend, and I should have them back to you next week at this time. Now for those of you who weren't able to be here to turn them in, _if_ you emailed them to me by 9:30, they will not be counted late."

 _Phew,_ Maria thought. That was what she had had to do.

The topic of discussion today was the counterculture influence on sixties music, which Maria normally would have been into, but without Michael there, she just felt . . . distracted. Instead of paying attention to the music, she paid attention to the clock, expecting that each minute that passed by was the minute he would come in. Because being the nerd that he was these days, he wouldn't miss class. Especially not today.

Ten minutes into the class, she texted him, asking him where she was. She waited ten minutes more without a response. And finally, curiosity just got the best of her, and she felt like she couldn't sit there anymore. She quietly and quickly got up and left the room, doubting that anyone even noticed her go.

It was a long, cold walk to Vidorra, but it was warm inside. She went up to the third floor and knocked on the door to Michael's apartment. As she waited, it dawned on her that maybe Sarah would be the only one home. And then she'd have to think of some excuse as to why she was there.

It was Michael, though, who pulled open the door. He had on a white tank and sweatpants, and his hair was even wilder than usual, sticking out all over the place. "Hey," he said.

"Hey." She looked him up and down, confused as to why there was, like, no urgency about him whatsoever. Shouldn't he be racing to class right about now? "So . . ." she said. "Rough morning?"

"Oh, yeah, I slept in," he replied. "I just woke up five minutes ago."

"Really?" She couldn't catch a clear view of his bed from out here, but from what she could tell, it didn't look unmade.

"Yeah, my alarm didn't go off," he said, "and Sarah left early, so . . ."

"Oh." Well, that happened to everyone, she supposed. It had happened to her on the very _first_ day of class, which had been mortifying. "Well, are you gonna go now, or-"

"No, I mean, what's the point?" he answered flippantly. "By the time I get there, there'd only be a few minutes left."

"Right." He seemed . . . _so_ okay with missing, and that kind of struck her as odd.

"Why aren't you there?" he asked her.

"Well, I went," she told him, "but I wondered where you, and I texted you, but you didn't text me back, so . . ."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't even—I didn't even get that."

"Oh, well, just . . . disregard it then."

"Yeah, sorry," he apologized again.

She cocked her head to the side, staring at him curiously. Something felt . . . off. As indulgent as it sounded, she would have expected him to at least ask her how things had gone today, how it had felt to return to class. But it kind of just seemed like he wanted her to go, like he didn't want her to stay and talk.

"Well . . . okay," she said, debating whether or not she should ask him if she could come in. "Hey, I'm working my first solo shift over at Haymsworth Hall today, so if you wanna come . . . I don't know, boss me around or whatever . . ." She trailed off, hoping he got the hint that she'd love to spend some time with him. Lighthearted time.

"Yeah, maybe I'll swing by," he said.

"Okay." She wasn't sure how to end the conversation because it all felt so unusually awkward, so she just said, "See you later then," and he said, "Yeah," and shut the door.

That afternoon, she sat at the front desk of Haymsworth, bored out of her mind, nothing to do. Every time somebody walked in the door, she got her hopes up that it might be him. But it never was.

...

Whenever Michael told Sarah something he didn't want anyone else to know about it, it was sort of unspoken that she would probably tell Tess, just like it was unspoken that he would tell Kyle everything. Sarah managed to make it a couple of days without confiding in her best friend, but when she stopped by Tess's house for lunch Tuesday afternoon, she just couldn't hold it in any longer. She spilled the beans about the whole situation, happy to be able to talk to her about it. Because even though she and Kyle had talked on the phone over the weekend, he was _Michael's_ best friend, so he'd sort of adopted the same 'it's-no-big-deal' attitude Michael had. Or at least he'd adopted that attitude with her. Maybe when they talked about it with each other, they were more realistic.

"You can't tell anyone," Sarah reminded Tess. "Michael really doesn't want people to know. He wants to protect Maria's privacy in all of this."

"So Maria doesn't even know what's all happening?" Tess questioned.

Sarah shook her head. "Not that I know of. It's just you and me and Kyle."

"Wow." Tess leaned back in her chair, pushing her half-eaten sandwich away. These days, there weren't many things that could distract Tess Harding from food, but this seemed to be one of them. "This is crazy. This is like high school _déjà vu_ to the max."

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked.

"Well, this is exactly what he did when these guys in the Crashdown got too grabby with her," Tess explained. "He punched them out, made a scene, got her fired. And that's pretty much the reason she ended up moving in with him."

"Huh. He never told me that." It wasn't hard to picture Michael lashing out, though, especially not three years ago. He'd admitted to having a pretty short fuse back then, and clearly that short fuse still existed.

"He should've thought things through a lot more," Tess said. "This sounds pretty bad. Like, how serious is it?"

"I don't know," Sarah confessed. "He just keeps telling me it'll all blow over, and I wanna believe him, but . . . it doesn't seem like it's blowing over to me. It seems like it's dragging out."

"Then you need to confront him about it," Tess advised, "and get some real answers. Don't let him just dance around the issues and pretend like it's all gonna be okay. Make him get serious."

"He just doesn't want me to worry," Sarah said, feeling the need to defend her boyfriend's intentions.

"But you _are_ worrying," Tess pointed out. "So talk to him about it. Or if you want some _real_ answers . . ." She shrugged. "Maybe just go straight to the dean."

The idea was enticing, but Sarah wasn't sure how she felt about it. On the one hand, going to the dean for answers would sort of be like going behind Michael's back. But on the other hand, if she didn't do it, what was to stop him from just continuing to shrug this off and pretend like it wasn't a big deal?

...

 _Why the hell can't I cook anything?_ Michael wondered frustratedly as he took a stuffed-crust pizza out of the oven. It was just straight out of the box, should have been simple, but somehow, he'd managed to burn it. He hit the crust with the pizza cutter, and it was rock hard. Inedible. Great.

He reached up and switched the smoke alarm off, because this damn pizza was definitely going to get it blaring if he left it on. Then he pulled the trashcan out from underneath the sink and tried to dump the pizza into it, but it was stuck to the tray. So he just dropped the whole tray in there instead.

When Sarah came inside, she immediately wrinkled her nose and asked, "What's burning?"

"Dinner." He kicked the trashcan back underneath the sink and waved his arms in the air, trying to clear out the smoke. "Sorry."

"I could've made something," she mumbled, tossing her purse onto the couch.

"I thought I'd try to have something done when you got home." Hell, he'd basically just laid around all day. This pizza was more of a result of boredom than anything else.

"So how was your day?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "Fine." He'd watched a lot of old football games on ESPN Classic. And that was about it.

"Mine was interesting," she said.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." She didn't elaborate, instead staring at him intently, almost as if she were mad.

"What'd you do?" he asked, a little bit afraid of what her answer was going to be. It was rare when Sarah didn't come home with a smile on her face, but right now, she wasn't even close to smiling.

"I met with your friend, the Dean of Discipline," she announced.

His whole body tensed. "What?" What the hell was that about? He'd specifically told them not to question his girlfriend or his friends.

"I went to his office and caught up with him just as he was about to leave," she explained. "We didn't talk long, and it's not like he could discuss any specifics of this 'investigation' with me, but I'll tell you what Michael: He definitely didn't make it seem like it was just blowing over."

Michael groaned, gripping the edge of the counter hard. _Fuck._ This was exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen. "Look, Sarah . . ."

"No, you look, Michael," she snapped. "This is serious, and you've known this was serious, haven't you?"

"We don't know how serious it's gonna be," he reminded her.

"You could get kicked out, Michael!" she screeched. "You could get kicked out of college and have to find somewhere else to go, and somewhere else to work, and somewhere else to live."

"That's not gonna happen," he assured her.

"You don't know that!" she yelled. "You're just saying that because you don't want me to worry, but I _am_ worried. So don't try to downplay it for me. I need to know what's going on."

"I'm sorry," Michael apologized, knowing it was best to just put that out there right away. "I wasn't trying to keep something from you."

"Well, it feels like you did," she cried. "And I just wish you would stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself. It's _your_ future that's on the line here."

"My future's not on the line. I'm doing everything they tell me to do."

"No, you're not," she argued. "You _know_ it's his word against yours right now. And it's not looking good for you."

He frowned. "Did the dean say that?"

"No, but he _implied_ it, Michael. He said you're being . . . resistant."

"Resistant?" he spat. That pissed him off. "How have I been resistant? I went and met with them, I gave 'em my written account, I'm doing this _stupid_ suspension."

"Yeah, but you're . . ." She trailed off, looking worked up, frazzled, on the edge of hysteria. "You're doing it alone."

He lowered his head, sensing what she meant by that. "Yeah, I'm doin' it alone."

"Michael!" she yelled. "Oh my god, you can't do this! I'm not gonna let you do this!"

"I told you, I don't want her to know. She's been through enough these past few days."

"She's been through more than any girl should ever have to go through. I get that," Sarah acknowledged. "And I feel so bad for her, and I wish for her sake that it could just be over . . ."

"It _is_ over," he argued.

"No, it's not."

"Sarah . . ." He didn't want to get mad at her—he never had before—but if she kept pushing this . . . he'd probably get mad.

"And if Maria knew what was going on, she'd feel the exact same way. She'd do anything she could to help you out, because you helped her."

"I don't wanna get her involved," he said for what felt like the thousandth time. "I didn't even wanna get you involved."

"Well, we're all involved, Michael," she growled angrily. "God, I don't know how you think you can just handle all of this on your own! You need to talk to her. You need to tell her what's going on."

"And then what?" he barked. "Bring her right back to where she was? Have her relive the whole thing?"

"If that's what it takes, yes!" she shouted. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to sound insensitive here. I care about Maria, too, and I have the utmost respect for you wanting to maintain her privacy through all of this . . . but Michael, you are my boyfriend, and I love you more than anything, so I am _not_ just gonna stand by and watch you go down for this!" Her whole body crumpled forward, and she covered her face with her hands, crying.

 _Oh, no._ He couldn't handle this. Watching her break down, knowing he was partly to blame for it . . . it was too much for him. "Come here," he said, reaching out for her.

She shook her head, backing away. "I don't want you to try to make me feel better right now," she said. "I want you to call Maria and tell her what's happening and tell her you need her help. Okay?"

He felt like there was a gigantic knot in the pit of his stomach, twisting itself tighter and tighter. As much as he knew his ass was on the line here, and as much as he hated seeing Sarah cry . . . there was just something guttural in him that refused to bring Maria back into this. Even if it cost him.

"I won't do that," he said bravely, knowing it would upset her even more.

She stared at him in disbelief, fresh tears brimming as she shook her head. "I don't know what to say to get through to you," she whimpered. "I don't know what to do."

"It's my decision, Sarah," he told her, steadfast. "There's nothing you can do."

She nodded sadly, as if she were reluctantly accepting that fact. "Yeah, there's nothing I can do," she tearfully agreed. She wouldn't even look at him as she grabbed her purse and stomped to the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked her.

"Out." She slammed the door shut behind her, and he thought about following her. But right now, she didn't look like she wanted anything to do with him, so maybe it was best to just give her some space.


	47. Chapter 47

"Okay, ten more minutes, and then you are getting ready for bed," Maria told her son as she finished folding up the laundry that night.

"Okay," he said, his eyes glued to the TV screen, his hands to his Xbox controller.

"Ten. Not fifteen, you hear?" The other night, he'd somehow gotten twenty minutes out of ten, and she wasn't about to let him get into that habit.

He didn't answer, and just as she was about to prompt him again, there was a loud knock on the door. Liz or Isabel, she figured, hoping it was Liz.

When she opened the door, though, it wasn't either one of those girls standing on the other side. Instead, it was Michael's girlfriend . . . without Michael there with her.

"Hey, Sarah," Maria greeted, a bit confused as to why she'd stop by so late in the evening.

"Hi," Sarah said, not her usual chipper, smiley self. "I need to talk to you."

 _Oh, no,_ Maria thought. _I did something._ Sarah had been so unbelievably understanding of her and Michael carving out a place in each other's lives again. Maybe something had caused her to reach her breaking point.

Grabbing her jacket off the coat rack, Maria nervously stepped outside onto the porch, closing the door. "What's up?"

"A lot, actually." Sarah sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Is everything okay?"

"No." Sarah locked eyes with her sadly and took a deep breath, as if whatever she were about to say was difficult for her. "Okay, I'm just gonna say this," she began. "I know what happened to you last week with the TA in your music class."

Maria tensed. What? How did she know?

"And I'm so sorry you experienced that," Sarah sympathized right away, "and I'm so proud of you for finding the strength to get away." Tearfully, she grabbed Maria and hugged her.

"Thanks," Maria said, appreciative of the woman-to-woman support. She pulled back and concluded, "So Michael told you."

"Yeah. And he told Kyle. But I don't think he really wanted to tell either one of us. It's just that . . . oh, some stuff has happened that kind of left him no choice but to tell us, and it's to the point now where I have to tell you."

Maria frowned. "What's going on?"

Sarah sighed again, her whole face a mask of anxiety and sadness. "Michael's being investigated by the university's disciplinary committee."

Maria's mouth fell open in horror. " _What_?" She thought back to those bruised, scraped up knuckles she'd gotten a glimpse of on Thursday. He'd told her not to worry about him . . . and to be honest, she hadn't.

"He got a phone call Thursday night from the Dean of Discipline," Sarah informed her, "and he met with them Friday to talk about what happened. He's suspended from classes until they get it all figured out."

Suspended. Of course. How had she not figured that out when he'd just so _happened_ to 'sleep in' today? He'd been so skittish back at his apartment, too, like he'd been keeping something from her. "Oh my god," she breathed out, mortified. "I had no idea."

"He didn't want you to know," Sarah said. "Even now, he doesn't want you to know. He wants to keep you out of it. So he doesn't know I'm over here telling you this."

"No, I'm glad you are." She felt like crying, but judging by Sarah's lack of makeup, she'd already done plenty of that. She probably didn't need to deal with another emotional train wreck on top of all of this. "What's gonna happen?"

"That's the thing." Sarah shrugged helplessly. "We don't know. Right now, it's not looking so good. Michael's admitted to hitting Billy and threatening him, but Billy hasn't admitted anything he did to you. So basically what's happened is that Billy went to the disciplinary committee to try to bring Michael down . . . and it's working."

Maria's whole heart hurt. "Oh god," she choked out, drowning in guilt. Why had she ever gone to Michael with this? He had his own life to live. She shouldn't have bogged him down with her problems. "But didn't he tell them _why_ he hit Billy?" she asked. Surely if they knew the full story . . .

"Yeah, he did."

"And what?" she spat. "They don't even care?"

Sarah shook her head sadly. "I'm not even sure if they believe him. The problem is that it's just Michael's word against Billy's at this point. You know?"

A huge, sinking feeling settled in Maria's stomach. She knew what this was going to end up amounting to.

"That's why I'm here," Sarah went on. "God, Maria, I hate to have to ask you to do this, because I know you just wanna put the whole thing behind you, but-"

"I'll do it," Maria cut in decidedly. "I'll come forward." She didn't even need to hear any more to make up her mind. "I would've done it already if I'd known this was going on." There was no way she was just going to stand back and watch Michael be punished simply for protecting her. No way. Not after everything he'd done for her.

"I'm so sorry you have to be a part of this," Sarah apologized again. "And I know Michael doesn't want you to be."

 _He's still protecting me,_ Maria thought, touched. It was a valiant as it was senseless. "After what he did for me, this is the least I can do for him," she said. This was probably what she should have done from the start. "God, you must hate me for getting him involved in this."

"No, Maria, not at all," Sarah assured her.

"I didn't mean to tell him. I wasn't gonna tell anyone."

"I'm glad you did." Sarah put a supportive hand on her shoulder and said, "I would've been more upset if you'd kept it to yourself."

 _Maybe I should have,_ she thought regretfully. If it would have spared Michael this anxiety, she would have.

"So where do I need to be?" she asked bravely, a newfound sense of determination flowing through her veins. "And when do I need to be there?"

...

Just as Max stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, Maria came into the bathroom and shut the door.

"Are you gonna get in?" he asked, motioning towards the shower. "Because if you are . . . I think I might get _back_ in."

She didn't smile. She didn't flirt back. She didn't do anything playful whatsoever, so she definitely hadn't come in here for a wet and wild time with him. In fact . . . she looked like something was bothering her.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

He gripped the towel around his waistline nervously, allowing himself for the first time in a long time to fear the worst.

...

Unfortunately, Michael was becoming an expert at navigating the tricky halls of the administration building. Just a few months ago, he and Sarah had stopped in so he could sort out his scholarships with the financial aid office on the first floor. Now they were basement level, dealing with a bunch of bull crap.

"You guys didn't have to come with me," he said as he led his friends down the depressingly lit lower level hallways.

"We wanted to," Sarah assured him.

"Yeah, we all wanna be here when you come out on top of this," Kyle added. He and Tess were walking hand in hand.

"Well, they're not makin' any decisions today," he reminded them, stopping outside the big white double doors that would lead him into the interrogation room. That wasn't technically what it was called, but that was what it felt like to him.

"You're not mad that I know, right?" Tess piped up. "I practically had to beg Sarah to tell me."

"Nah, I pretty much figured she would. Just do me a favor: If you feel like you're gonna puke, make sure you do it on Billy."

"Billy?" Sarah echoed nervously. "Is he here today?"

"Yeah." Michael looked coldly at the closed doors. He was probably already in there. "They're talkin' to us both at the same time today." He had to admit, he was apprehensive about it.

Sarah looked concerned, too. "Ooh, okay," she said evenly, straightening out his suit shirt for him. "You know that you can't lash out at him, right? Even if he says stuff to get you riled up, you can't let him set you off. You have to stay calm and level-headed and mature."

"Yeah, I know," he muttered. He'd prepped himself for this last night. It was going to be hard, but he took comfort in the fact that Billy couldn't really say _that_ many dick things, either, or else he'd look like . . . well, like a dick.

"Wish me luck," he said.

"Good luck." Sarah stretched upward and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Taking a deep breath, he faced those intimidating double doors and walked forward, as ready as he'd ever be for whatever repetitive, unsatisfactory questions they had in store for him this time. Hopefully he wouldn't say anything that would put any more nails in his coffin today.

...

"God, this place is like a maze," Maria complained as she and Max wound their way down two flights of stairs. Even though she'd felt like they had left early enough, they'd gotten confused once _inside_ the building, and now they were running late.

"Maria." At the bottom of the last set of stairs, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

She didn't _want_ to, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind that she was going to. "I have to," she said. Telling him about everything last night had been . . . difficult. Way more difficult than this would be.

Quickly, she stomped down the hallway, Max following along behind her. She stopped abruptly when she came to the right room number. Outside, sitting on uncomfortable-looking benches that seemed more suited for the DMV were Sarah, Kyle, and Tess. "Hey," she said. They were all dressed up like they would be for a job interview, just like she and Max were.

"Hi, Maria," Sarah said. She stood up and gave her a hug. "Thanks for coming."

 _No need to thank me,_ Maria thought. _I should have been here days ago._ She was still kicking herself for being so oblivious. "Is he in there?" she asked, motioning to the big white double doors.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. But so is Billy."

Maria shuddered inwardly. _Great._ The last person she wanted to see.

Max squeezed her hand comfortingly and reminded her, "I'll be right out here if you need me."

She smiled at him appreciatively. He'd been so concerned about her last night that he'd taken off work for the next few days to help her deal with this. He said he didn't want her to have to do it alone.

"Thanks," she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze back. Ultimately, though, it didn't seem as though he could walk into that room with her. He was going to have to wait out here with everyone else while she went in there and did what needed to be done.

 _No fear,_ she thought, walking forward, placing her hand on the doorknob. Michael hadn't been afraid when he'd confronted Billy, and she wasn't going to be afraid this time, either.

She pulled open the door and strode right inside, leaving Max and the others on the outside. She noticed Billy sitting on the left side of a long table with a man who was either his lawyer or his father, and Michael was several chairs down on the right side, by himself. He stared at her in astonishment, as if he were seeing a ghost. Apparently Sarah never had ended up telling him that she was coming.

"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step outside," the man—presumably the dean—on the other side of the table said. He was flanked by two other people, whom Maria assumed were part of this ineffective disciplinary committee. "Only parents are allowed to sit in on these sessions."

She kept casting sideways glances down at Michael, gauging his reaction. The shock was gone now, and in its place was . . . accusation, almost. Like he was angry at her for being there.

"I need to make a statement," she announced, chancing a peek at Billy, too. He was squirming in his seat nervously.

"And you are . . .?" the dean asked.

"Maria DeLuca." She knew that name meant nothing to him, though, so she added, "Michael's here because of me."

...

Michael felt like he'd been hit by a ten-ton truck when he walked back out into the hall. Billy and his father came out, too, already hunched over and talking, like they were devising some sort of strategy to deal with this now that Maria was back in the mix.

 _Maria . . ._ Why was she there? She wasn't supposed to be there.

His friends immediately stood up and circled around him while Billy and his dad scampered off to another room to regroup. "Is that him?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah." His head felt like it was spinning. All he wanted to do was go back in that room and be there with Maria, but the dean had told him and Billy that they weren't allowed in there while they were questioning her.

He swung his head towards Sarah and deduced, "You told her?" That was where she'd gone last night?

Swallowing hard, she nodded and wrapped her hands around his arm. "You can be as mad at me as you want. I don't care."

Mad . . . wasn't exactly the right word for it. But he wasn't thrilled, either.

It was hard not to notice that his little support system had gained a member, one he wasn't a fan of. Max was there in a suit of his own, though surely he was just there for Maria. "You know what's goin' on?" he figured.

Max nodded solemnly. "Yeah, she told me last night."

Ridiculously, it made Michael feel glad that she'd waited so long to tell him. And she probably wouldn't have told him if she hadn't felt like she had to.

He shot a hard glance at Sarah, who was looking down at the floor instead of at him. He thought about asking her why she'd done this, but . . . what was the point? He already knew. She loved him. She loved him, and she'd do anything for him, even if it upset him. She had his best interest at heart.

They sat in silence and waited for a long, long time. They must have been asking Maria a hell of a lot of questions, because first a half an hour passed by, then forty-five minutes. Around the hour mark, Tess finally had to get up to go to the bathroom, and when she came back, Maria finally came out. They all stood up.

"How'd it go?" Max asked, immediately going to her side.

"Fine," she said, leaning against him as he put his arm around her. "Um, they said they're gonna question Billy some more, so we're all free to go. For today."

 _For today,_ Michael thought bitterly. So it wasn't over then. Fantastic.

"Thank you, Maria," Sarah said, giving her a big hug. For some reason, she hugged Max, too, which pissed Michael off.

"That was really brave," Kyle told her.

"Thanks." She looked right at Michael then and said, "I need to talk to you, before you go."

 _Good,_ he thought. _I need to talk to you, too._

"We'll go wait out in the car," Sarah told him, walking off with Tess and Kyle.

Max looked down at Maria and asked, "Do you want me to stay?"

She didn't say anything. So that answer was obvious.

"I'll go wait in the car, too, then," he said, lifting her hand to his mouth. He gave the back of it a quick kiss, then headed off in the same direction as the other three.

Michael leaned back against the wall, waiting until it was just himself and Maria in that long, cold hallway to start in. "Why'd you come here?"

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this. How could you not tell me?" she roared.

"I didn't want you to know!"

"Why not? You're in this position right now because of me."

"No."

"Yes, you are."

"No, you didn't ask me to hit him," he reminded her. "I did that. This is not your fault. But I know you think it is, and _that's_ why I didn't tell you."

"You should've told me," she growled, obviously upset with him. "God, I never should have gotten you involved in this."

"No, I'm glad you did."

"You're glad?" she echoed incredulously. "You're _glad_? Look around, Michael. Look where we are. This is serious. You could get kicked out for this."

"I don't care," he blurted.

" _What?_ "

"I don't care, Maria." He took a step forward, moving in closer to her as the words just poured out of his mouth. "I don't care about myself or what happens to me. Right now, the only thing I care about is you."

She gazed up at him in disbelief, confusion shining in those green eyes of hers. It was like she didn't know whether to be infuriated with him or touched.

"Well, _I_ care about you," she finally said. "And I'll be damned if I let you get kicked out over something you did for me."

"Something I'd do again," he added. It didn't matter how impulsive or stupid it was. He wouldn't even think twice about it.

That confusion on her face started to clear itself up, and the fury died down. Tears entered her eyes, and he could see her gratitude. Feel it. It was overwhelming. But there was something else mixed in with it now.

Determination.

"We're gonna win this," she vowed. "Together."

 _Together._ The word rolled through his mind, bouncing off all the corners of his brain. And he liked the sound of it. As much as he hadn't wanted her to get involved with this . . . having her here made him feel like he actually stood a shot. He felt like they could do anything together.

She encircled her arms around his waist and hugged him. He held her close, happy to feel the stillness of her body. Last time he'd had his arms around her, she'd been crying. Shaking. But she wasn't anymore.

...

Everything felt awkward for Maria when she and Max got home. He was being so understanding and so supportive about everything, but she wondered if, lingering underneath the surface, he was feeling insecure about anything. If he was, he wasn't saying much.

"I'll go pick up Dylan this afternoon, alright?" he offered.

"Okay. Thanks." She unzipped her skirt and slid it down over her hips, letting it pool at the floor. She noticed him watching her, but not in a turned-on kind of way. More like . . . concerned.

"What?" she asked. Intimacy wasn't going to be weird for them now, right? It wasn't like she was afraid to have a guy touch her again. At least not this guy.

"It just upsets me that you've had to go through this," he told her.

She pulled on a pair of black drawstring shorts and then pulled her shirt over her head. "What else?"

He sat down on the bed, his posture hunched over and dejected. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I guess it upsets me that you felt like you couldn't tell me about it."

"No, I knew I _could_ ," she said, pulling out the t-shirt at the top of the drawer. One of Max's. "I just didn't want to." She put the shirt on and swayed towards him, hoping he might get a little distracted seeing her wearing his shirt. Most guys were into that. But Max's eyes remained downcast, and he didn't even look at her.

"You told Michael," he said quietly.

Sighing, she sat down next to him. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Are you mad at me for that?"

"I'm not _mad_ at anybody. Except Billy." He gulped and shook his head when he said that name. "I do wonder, though, why you _just_ told Michael."

She'd wondered about that, too. A lot. Looking back, she knew it would have been more appropriate to tell Max. Not only was he her boyfriend, but he had an interest in all these legal-esque proceedings. He would have helped her figure out a logical way to handle it. But . . . she wasn't always logical, and she didn't always do logical things.

"Max, he was just . . . he was just there with me, you know?" she explained. "He was literally _right there_ outside that classroom when I was too freaked out to go in. And everything just came pouring out."

He thought about it for a moment, nodded, and said, "Okay."

"Is it really okay?" If it was something they needed to talk about further, then that was fine. She could do that.

"It's okay," he affirmed. "Just, in the future . . . I'd love to be the guy you run to when you have a problem."

She grunted. "In the future, I'd love to be the girl who doesn't run to a guy when she has a problem."

He reached over and clasped her hand in his. "You are that girl."

"Clearly I'm not."

"You are, though," he insisted. "You had a baby in high school and raised him for the first four years of his life on your own. That's incredible."

She appreciated the compliment, but it didn't feel entirely accurate. For a while there, she hadn't been alone. She'd had Michael.

"You've had to be tough; you've had to be strong," Max went on. "And I know part of that's because of me, because I wasn't there for you." He entwined his fingers with hers, holding her hand even more tightly now. "But I am now. You know that, right?"

"I know," she said. She'd known that for a while now. He'd proven it to her.

"Good," he said. "Just wanted to make sure."

She smiled at him, grateful for his understanding. He could have been mad at her. He really could have. But Max just wasn't a mad person anymore.

...

Michael lay sprawled out on his stomach, hoping he would be able to get to sleep tonight without tossing and turning. For the first time since this shit with the disciplinary committee had started up, he felt like he might have the advantage over Billy. It would serve this jackass right if the whole thing turned around on him.

Sarah slid under the covers behind him, moving in close, but not as close as she usually did. "Are you still mad at me?" she asked.

"I'm not mad," he said, his voice muffled against the pillow.

"Really? Because you've said about two words to me all day."

He rolled over onto his back, yawning. "I'm just tired." This past week had really taken it out of him.

She fell silent for a few seconds, her fingers playing with a loose thread on the bedspread. But she couldn't stay silent for long. "I hated being the one to pull Maria back into all of this," she said, "but someone had to do it. It had to be done."

Deep down, he understood that. But it still pissed him off that this wasn't something he could handle himself. "I didn't want either one of you involved," he said. "But you are, so . . ." Maybe it shouldn't have come as such a huge surprise. This was how it had always been in high school. He'd screwed stuff up, and other people had bailed him out. Sometimes quite literally if he'd gone to jail. "I guess this is just another epic failure on my part," he muttered dejectedly.

"You haven't failed anyone," she assured him, scooting in closer. "You definitely haven't failed me." She draped one of her legs over his and rested her hand and head against his chest. "You're the best guy ever."

He snorted at the absurdity of that. "I'm not the best guy." He'd made so many mistakes, and maybe this whole ordeal was a sign that he wasn't done making them.

"I think you are," she whispered, snuggling up against him. Her body was warm, soft. Comforting, like a blanket.

 _I'm not, though,_ he thought again, stroking her hair as she nodded off. Maybe hearing her say that should have been flattering, but for some reason, it wasn't. Instead, it worried him.

...

The questioning . . . was endless. It pissed Michael off that it wasn't just an open and shut case once Maria came forward, but he had to bite his tongue and go along with it. On Thursday, they spoke with a so-called 'character witness,' someone who could attest to how they usually conducted themselves. The Music Appreciation instructor spoke on Billy's behalf, making it very clear from the get-go that the outcome of this investigation wasn't going to affect how he treated Michael or Maria in the classroom. He stood by Billy, though, bragged him up, even. Apparently he was the greatest TA he'd ever had, and he'd never witnessed him engaging in any dangerous or inappropriate actions with students.

Michael brought Brody in, even though he didn't know anything about the case at hand. He just needed someone who had a good opinion of him, his character, and his work ethic, and Brody was that guy. He really came through and spoke as highly of Michael as the professor had spoken about Billy.

Unfortunately, once the dean and his committee were done speaking with the character witnesses, the questions were aimed at Michael and Billy again. And it was more of the same thing over and over. More recounting what had happened, giving the same damn answers to the same damn questions. For Michael, it was easy, because he was telling the truth. But he noticed Billy starting to get more and more frazzled, and the things he was saying were starting to sound less and less convincing. He hoped the dean could see that.

Throughout all the questioning, Michael got the sense that Billy's dad was actually a lawyer. There were certain questions where he would answer on Billy's behalf, or questions that he would instruct him not to answer. It was as if he knew his son had done something wrong and was just trying to cover his ass for him.

Friday marked the one-week point of this whole saga, and Michael was hoping it would be the last day. Sarah, Tess, and Kyle came with him, and Maria and Max were back again, too. At the very least, today was something different. They were all allowed to come into the room with him and overhear the questioning. Billy had more people on his side, too, including a woman who looked panicked about all of this. Probably his mother.

Michael sat next to Maria at the table while the others sat behind them. He hated that she even had to sit in the same room with Billy, but she said it didn't bother her. It bothered him, though.

"If we may," Billy's father said, "my son would like the chance to address the allegation of his own misconduct with both Mr. Guerin and Ms. DeLuca."

"Go ahead," the dean urged.

Billy twisted in his chair to face the two of them, and Michael did the same, hoping his larger frame would block Maria from the other guy's view. "Alright, first of all, I wanna point out that I've been an exemplary student here at the university," Billy began.

"So have I," Michael mumbled.

"I've worked hard to get where I am today, and the fact that you two would come in here and spread these lies about me sickens me."

Michael had to restrain himself from saying anything.

"I tried to have your back here, Maria, I truly did," Billy went on, "but now I gotta tell the truth. Truth is . . . I didn't come on to this girl. She came on to me."

"Oh, give a break!" Michael roared, unable to contain himself. He shot to his feet and blared, "Are you fucking kidding me? That's bullshit! Do you really expect anyone to believe that?"

Behind him, Kyle got up, put a hand on his shoulder, and whispered, "Shut up, shut up."

"Mr. Guerin, please have a seat," the dean instructed.

He didn't want to sit down. He wanted to hit this loser harder than he had the first time, maybe a knock a few teeth out.

He sucked it up and sat down, though.

"I didn't know how she felt about me until the day she stayed after class to have me look over her paper," Billy kept on lying. "We were talkin', and then she started flirtin' with me and movin' in close. She was pretty aggressive."

"That's not true," Maria denied calmly. "That's the exact opposite of what happened."

"I didn't say anything 'cause I really like you, Maria," Billy claimed. "And I didn't wanna cause problems for you and your boyfriends. But now it's obvious that you're just trying to cover up what really happened so you don't have to own up to havin' feelings for me."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the only thing she feels is disgust," Michael muttered angrily. He looked right at the dean and said, "Do you understand now why I hit this guy?"

"He's lying through his teeth," Maria added. "I don't have feelings for him. I never did. I'm in a committed relationship with the father of my son. And even if I wasn't, what reason would I have to lie about any of this?"

" 'cause your boy here's goin' down," Billy said, gesturing to Michael. "And you knew that, so you swooped in with some lies to save his ass."

Billy's father tugged on his arm, urging him to be quiet again. But Michael actually wanted him to keep talking. The more he said, the worse he was making himself look.

They were allowed to take a twenty minute break, but then it all started back up again. And it wasn't pretty. As part of the investigation, the dean and his colleagues had apparently done a little research, dug into the past. And what they found in Michael's past wasn't so flattering.

"Mr. Guerin," the dean said, sliding a few documents across the table. "These are copies of police reports, one from April of three years ago, one from May. It seems to me that you've been involved in your fair share of physical altercations. One of them was even with your own father."

Michael took a quick look at both of them, and he knew what incidents they were describing. "Yeah, fight in McDonalds," he recalled, sliding the top one back to the dean. "My dad was an emotionally abusive alcoholic. What do you expect?"

"And the other one?" the dean asked.

Michael didn't want to think about the other one. "That wasn't my fault," he said, handing that report back over, too.

Behind him, Max— _Max_ of all people—cleared his throat and piped up, "Sir, I believe I know what altercation you're referring to, and I'd like to take full responsibility for it. Michael acted in self-defense and in defense of a child that night. He didn't do anything wrong, and that's why I'm the only one who was charged with anything."

 _Way to try to make yourself look good in front of Maria,_ Michael thought. But hell, if Max was openly taking the blame for the bridge incident, that worked for him.

"Michael, your high school transcripts also made note of a significant number of suspensions over the years, for various acts of student misconduct, in some instances, violence," the dean noted. "There seems to be a trend here, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, that's an old trend," Michael pointed out. "I'm a lot different than I was in high school. Just 'cause I decked this loser over here doesn't mean I'm gonna punch everyone I disagree with."

"Yeah, Michael's changed a lot since then," Maria added in. "And part of the reason _why_ he's changed is that college has been such a good experience for him. You can't take this away from him just because he was trying to look out for me."

"My concern," the dean said, addressing Michael directly, "is that this anger might manifest itself again."

"It won't," Michael promised. "As long as Maria and I never have to see Billy again."

"I'm not steppin' down as TA," Billy interjected. "You two are just out to get me here. You're lookin' to crucify me for somethin' I didn't even do when you're the one who did somethin' wrong. You're the one who admitted you hit me. You might've given me a concussion for all we know."

"We have been to a doctor," Billy's father said, "and preliminary findings suggest-"

"That your son's an ass?" Michael cut in.

"Excuse me, young man," Billy's father growled, "but I do believe your attitude throughout this whole process reflects the unfounded hostility you bear towards me son."

"Unfounded?" Michael shrieked. It took another hand on his shoulder to remind him to shut up. It felt more like Sarah's this time.

"Can I just say something?" Maria jumped back in, raising her hand as though she were in a classroom.

"Go right ahead, Ms. DeLuca," the dean said.

She sighed deeply. "Okay. I'm not asking for much. I wasn't raped and I get that, but what happened was still wrong. But all I ask is that Billy do the right thing and step down as TA so I don't have to see him in class every day. I'm not out to ruin his future or ruin his life. I just want him to learn from this and be apologetic about it, and move on. And I would like to be able to move on, too."

 _You're a lot nicer than me, Maria,_ Michael thought. Personally, he'd be content with seeing Billy burn in hell.

"And sir," she kept going, "as far as your concerns about Michael go . . . there's just nothing to be concerned about. This is not something he would do for just anyone, okay? There are about five women in the world who could get this kind of reaction out of him, three of whom are sitting in this room today."

She was right. Her, Sarah, Tess, Tina, and his mom. That was it.

"Ms. DeLuca, I appreciate your input," the dean said.

"No, don't just appreciate it. _Please_ , listen to me," she begged. "I know Michael. He knows me. And he knows . . ." She paused for a moment, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "He knows about something in my past," she said, "and that's part of why he's so protective of me."

Michael frowned. Something in her past? Was she talking about . . .

"Maria." He shook his head. She didn't have to talk about that. "No."

She didn't listen to him, though. She just kept going, as if it _weren't_ unbelievably painful to rehash all of this, too. "Three years ago, I found myself in a situation that made me feel very uncomfortable, just like this did," she revealed. "I wasn't _forced_ to do anything I didn't want to do, but I definitely felt . . . pressured, I guess you could say."

"Stop," he said. She didn't have to tell anyone about this.

"The situation involved . . . a sexual act," she said vaguely, "in exchange for money. It's not something I'm proud of; in fact, it was pretty traumatizing. But Michael was sort of the one to save me from going down a really horrible, dark path. And up until now, he was the only one who knew about it." She lowered her head momentarily, hopefully just because she was emotional and not because she was ashamed. Because he didn't think she should feel ashamed for anything she'd done. "I know this is a totally different situation," she acknowledged, "but . . . it brought me right back to that moment in my life, and I'm sure it brought him back there, too. And he just wanted to save me again."

The three people on the other side of the table all stared at her sympathetically. For once, they didn't look like stone cold statues with no hearts whatsoever; they looked like actual human beings. "Thank you for sharing that, Ms. DeLuca," the dean said.

She nodded and cast a quick glance up at Michael. He could barely stand to see those tears in her eyes. But he knew what had just happened. By revealing all of that . . . she had just saved him.


	48. Chapter 48

"A toast," Kyle said, raising his glass, "to Michael. Congratulations on being an unsuspended man. Cheers."

"Cheers," everyone echoed, tapping their glasses against his. Michael had to admit, this felt pretty damn good. He hadn't expected the dean to announce the committee's decision on the spot today, but after hours in that dingy, uninviting room, it had paid off. His suspension was over, and he wasn't going to have to deal with any further punishments. Billy, on the other hand . . . well, his suspension was just starting. Two weeks was what he would have to sit out of class— _and_ a performance he'd been scheduled to play guitar in for one of the music department's showcase nights. And of course his days as a TA were done. Hence the celebratory meal at YellowBrix restaurant.

"You likin' your water there, Tess?" Michael teased.

"Oh, you know it." Disgruntled at the other end of the table, she took a drink, obviously wishing that she could be drinking alcohol with the rest of them. "No, in all seriousness, though, I am really glad this is over with, Michael. None of us wanted to see you get suspended."

 _Except maybe Max,_ Michael thought. That guy's presence was the only blemish at this victory celebration. Otherwise, it was great. Sarah on one side of him, Maria on the other . . . and stupid Max right next to Maria. It didn't matter if he'd actually had his back in that interrogation room. He still hated the guy.

"Yeah, it'll be really nice to get back to normal," Sarah said, lifting back the napkin on the bread basket. All the rolls were gone, though, so Michael gave her his. He needed to save room for the main course anyway.

"Took a little longer than it should have," Maria said, "but at least the end result is what it should be."

Kyle chuckled. "Yeah, you know what's great? Billy was the one to bring this whole thing to the dean's attention in the first place, and now it just blew up in his face."

"Cheers to _that_!" Sarah exclaimed, raising her glass. Again, they all toasted and drank.

"Oh, I think I have to pee," Tess announced suddenly. "Sarah, come with me."

"Alright," Sarah chirped. "We'll be back."

Michael rolled his eyes as the two of them got up and left the table. Girls. What was it with their tendency to pee in herds?

He was glad Maria stayed, though, because he wanted to say something to her. They hadn't gotten a chance to talk—just the two of them—all day. And they needed that.

"So Kyle," Max said, "are you looking forward to being a father?"

"Uh, I'm kinda nervous," Kyle confessed, "but I'm startin' to get excited, too, so I guess that's good."

"Hmm." Max smiled. "It's a pretty good feeling. You and Tess know what you're having yet?"

"You mean boy or girl? No, we don't know that yet."

Michael waited until they'd lulled themselves into the depths of conversation about fatherhood—something he couldn't add to—until he spoke to Maria, his voice low, quiet. "You didn't have to say all that today."

"I know," she said.

He put his elbows up on the table and folded his hands. "I wish you hadn't. It was gonna go my way."

"I just wanted to make sure of that."

There was more he wanted to say, but this just wasn't the place to say it. Not with Max sitting right next to them. Besides, their waiter was coming back to the table with a full tray of food.

"Alright, I gotta dig in," Kyle said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "When my girl comes back, she's gonna eat half my food."

When they'd all finished eating, everyone seemed full and tired and ready to go home. Sarah, Kyle, and Tess all piled into Michael's car, and just as he was about to get in with them, Max sauntered up to him and said, "Hey, Michael?"

 _Fuck off._

"I just wanted to thank you, for lookin' out for Maria," Max told him. "And if I'd been in your position, I know I would've done the same."

 _Hmm, Saint Max, not such a pacifist after all._ He knew that Max could throw a pretty hard punch, but truthfully . . . he was glad to have been the one to do it.

"Anyway." Max extended his hand for a handshake. "Thanks again."

 _No, I don't wanna do this,_ he complained inwardly, reluctantly shaking Max's hand. He probably wouldn't have even done it if Sarah hadn't been sitting in the passenger's seat.

Max left it at that and walked a few cars down to where he and Maria were parked. She was standing there, having watched the whole exchange, and she had this faint smile on her face, like she was hopeful that the tension between them was finally thawing. But Michael shook his head at her as he got into his own car, just to let her know that that wasn't happening.

...

"Night, mom."

"Goodnight, honey." Maria shut the door to Dylan's room, happy that she'd been able to tear him away from the Xbox tonight. They'd played a board game instead, which had been nice. It had just been nice to have enough stress-free time to devote to that.

Unfortunately, when she walked back out into the living room, Max looked _very_ stressed, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe it had to do with missing a few days of work in order to help her deal with all of this?

"You okay?" she asked, sitting down beside him. She rubbed his shoulders, feeling the notable tension there.

"I just . . ." He held his hands out in front of himself helplessly. "I had no idea, Maria."

"About what?"

"About . . ." He trailed off.

"Oh. That." They hadn't really talked about it, not even on the drive home. She'd turned on the radio and sang along to all the annoying pop songs instead. "It was years ago, Max."

"But clearly it still affects you," he said.

"Not really. Not like on a daily basis or anything. It's just that . . . Billy brought those memories back a little bit."

"What exactly are the memories?" he cautiously asked.

She shook her head. "You don't wanna know."

"I think . . . I need to," he said slowly.

She let out a shaky sigh, not because she was nervous about telling him, but just because . . . she knew it was going to upset him. But he was right. He needed to know. "Okay," she said. "Well, it was a few months before Dylan's third birthday, and things weren't really going so well. Um . . . I'd just lost my job, and I didn't have any money, and my mom and I were fighting, so she kicked me out." She shivered, recalling that feeling of hopelessness. She'd never felt anything like it before. "I was pretty desperate. I mean, Dylan and I were sleeping in the public library. That's how bad things were."

"I'm sorry, Maria," he apologized, putting a hand on her lap.

"Anyway . . . I'm gonna spare you the gritty details. Basically I met an older guy who was willing to give me a hundred bucks if I gave him a blow-job, so . . ." She shrugged, embarrassed. "I did."

"Oh, god." He raked one hand through his hair.

"I know, it's disgusting."

"No, I'm not—I'm not disgusted by you," he quickly assured her. "I'm just ashamed of myself. I never knew it got so bad for you. And maybe it wouldn't have if I'd been with you, if I'd been helpin' you out."

"Maybe," she agreed. She thought about it from time to time, how different her life might be if she and Max had raised Dylan together from the start. Maybe certain things would have been easier. But she probably never would have left Albuquerque if they had stayed together, and if she hadn't done that . . . then she never would have met Michael. "It's okay, Max," she said. "Everything works out the way it's supposed to."

"But I just wish it'd been easier for you," he said. Angling his whole body towards hers, he took both of her hands in his. "You don't have to keep this stuff from me, okay? No matter how dark or ugly it is . . . I can handle it."

"I know," she said. But in all reality, it wasn't the bad memories that she was so hesitant to share with him. No, he had a lot of bad memories of his own, a lot of dark moments in his past. He knew how to handle that stuff. Instead, the good memories were the ones she wanted to keep a little closer to her chest. Memories of root beer, a guitar, and a certain song.

...

Michael knew he should be more preoccupied with getting caught up in all his classes, but instead of studying, he was going to spend the day with Sarah instead. The past couple days had been rough on her, too, and he just wanted her to know how much he appreciated her.

"This is nice," she said as they walked across campus hand in hand. "I feel so much more relaxed than I did last weekend."

"Yeah, me, too." Tomorrow he'd get his ass in gear and hit the books. Today, they were just going to hang out, maybe go out to eat, _maybe_ go see a movie. Definitely go home and have some sex.

"I'm so glad it all worked out for us," she said. "I was really worried for a minute there."

"Yeah, you were hysterical," he teased.

"Shut up, I was concerned."

"No, I know." In the long-run, he was glad she'd been concerned.

"Let's sit," she said, pulling him onto the plaza. "Sit and relax."

He took off his coat and put it down on the grass. It was warm enough out today to lay there in a t-shirt. She lay down beside him, snuggling up to him like she would have if they were in bed.

"Mmm," she moaned contentedly. "I think Maria was really brave."

"Yep," he agreed. Braver than he'd ever wanted her to have to be.

"To reveal all that stuff to everyone . . . it must've been hard," she empathized. "Gosh, hearing everything she's gone through makes me realize how simple my life is. I've just had it so easy."

"Well, nothin' wrong with that." If he had the choice between a hard life and an easy one, he'd pick the easy one any day. Wouldn't everyone?

"I mean, everything's just sort of always gone the way it's supposed to for me," she reflected. "High school, friends, college . . . amazing boyfriend." She tilted her head back and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "It's really sad that she's had to go through so much."

"I know." The only thing that comforted him was the fact that she'd made it through all those hardships, though, and ended up here.

Playing with his shirt, she said, "Your relationship with her was, like, _intensely_ dramatic, wasn't it?

"Uh . . . sometimes, yeah." He had to downplay it a little, because the truth was, their relationship had taken enough twists and turns to fill a romance novel. Or two.

"Our relationship isn't like that," she said. "It's pretty easy. It always has been."

"Maybe that's why we've lasted," he supposed.

She smiled up at him. "Maybe. And you know what? I hope things are always easy between us."

"But what if things get hard?" he asked. "Do you think we could handle it?"

"I think so," she said.

" 'cause, you know, Tess and Kyle . . . things used to be really easy for the two of them. And now . . . not so much."

"Yeah, but things are looking up for them," she pointed out. "Kyle's made so much progress these past couple months, and Tess is, like, _glowing_. They're gonna have the cutest babies."

"Plural, huh?" he remarked. "Let's get 'em through one first."

"Oh." She propped herself up on her forearm, looking down at him. "You didn't know?"

He frowned, confused. "Didn't know what?"

...

Michael felt like he was hearing things. "Twins?" he echoed incredulously, staring at his best friend in disbelief. "Seriously?"

Kyle put his handheld weights down on the floor and chuckled. "Yeah, I was surprised, too. But that's why she's gettin' so big, man. She's eatin' for _three_."

"Or four or five," Michael hypothesized.

"No, it's twins. The ultrasound was pretty clear."

Michael sat down in the recliner, still trying to wrap his mind around it. "When did you find out?"

"Monday," Kyle answered.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, it's not like you haven't had a lot goin' on this week."

"Yeah, but this is good news. I could've used a little good news."

Kyle reached down and picked up one of the weights again, using it to do bicep curls with his left arm. "It's . . . head-spinning news to me. At first, Tess was kinda freaked out, too."

"At first?"

"Yeah, but she's doin' better now. She and Sarah talked about it a lot, and that helped."

Michael smiled. "Yeah, Sarah always knows what to say."

"Plus, I'm not bein' an ass about it," Kyle added, "so that's always good."

"Always," Michael agreed. "Hey, listen, bro . . . I understand why you didn't tell me. But now that I know . . . holy shit, congratulations."

"Thanks," Kyle said, grinning. "Who knew I had such super sperm, huh?"

"Yeah, really." Michael shook his head, still stunned. "Crazy. You're gonna have two kids before your twenty-second birthday. You realize that?"

Kyle switched his weight to the other arm and kept lifting. "Don't freak me out, man."

"Sorry." It was just so . . . ironic. A couple of years ago, he never would have pictured Kyle becoming a dad at such a young age. In fact, he'd always sort of pictured himself in this situation, as a father to Dylan and probably someone else by now. But . . . life had a way of turning out differently than he'd expected. Not better, not worse. Just different.

...

Seeing Max with a whistle around his neck and a whiteboard in his hand was nice. Liz knew he loved basketball, and it was great to see him have an opportunity to coach it. Even if the team didn't seem to be very talented.

She got to the Sunday afternoon game early and approached him down on the court, where he was watching Dylan shoot free throws and giving him pointers. "Hey, you," she said.

He spun around and smiled. "Hey. You made it."

"Of course." Luckily today wasn't a tournament. The game would only last an hour or two, and then they could all head home and enjoy their evening without suffering the pain of bleacher butt syndrome.

"Dylan, try to make three more!" Max called out to his son. He came a little closer to Liz then, and remarked, "So I hear you went on that date with Alan, huh?"

"He told you?"

"Yeah. Said he thought it could've gone a little better."

"It could've," she agreed. Alan was gorgeous and seemed like a nice enough guy. There was no spark, though, nothing that made her feel like she just _had_ to go out with him again. "I don't know, he's a really great guy and all, but . . . the chemistry just wasn't there, you know?"

"You sure are picky, aren't you?" he teased.

"No, I'm not picky; I just know what I want."

"So what do you want then?"

She felt her breath stop for a second as she looked at him. _What I want . . ._ she thought, _. . . is not something I can have._

"Hey."

She whirled around when she heard Maria come up behind her. "Hey."

"Glad you came." Maria motioned to the bleachers, which were still virtually empty at this point, and said, "Wanna come sit down?"

"Sure." That was probably a really, _really_ good idea. "Good luck today, Coach," she told Max.

"Thanks."

As she and Maria walked across court, she asked, "So . . . what's been going on? What happened? What'd I miss?"

"A lot, actually," Maria replied. "Did Max tell you anything?"

"No." They'd only exchanged a few text messages this week, but she'd found it unusual that he'd backed out on taking care of Scarlet the night she'd gone out with Alan. "He just told me there was some crazy stuff going on that you guys had to handle."

"There was," Maria said. "But it's over now."

Once they sat down, Maria proceeded to tell Liz everything about the past few days. The creepy TA, her decision to tell Michael, and everything that had gone down with the disciplinary committee. Liz listened intently, because it was insanely dramatic. Quite the saga.

"Wow, Maria," she said once the story was over. "That's . . . wow."

"Yep."

 _You poor thing,_ Liz thought. Maria was a good person. She didn't deserve to have to deal with such a creep of a guy in the first place. "And you're doing okay now?"

"I'm good," Maria assured her.

"What about Max?" He certainly _looked_ fine down there on the sidelines, but it was possible that there was a little more going on behind the scenes.

"The whole thing just makes him really upset," Maria said. "It upsets him that it happened, that I didn't tell him right away, that it brought back some things from my past he didn't even know about. But he's been really understanding and super supportive throughout the whole thing. I'm sure he's glad it's over, too."

Liz nodded. Of course Max had been understanding. He was understanding of everything these days. He probably didn't even question why Maria hadn't come straight to him. Or if he had, he probably hadn't lingered on it too long.

"So . . . Michael, huh?" she said, treading lightly through this part of the conversation. "He is . . . intense."

Maria smiled a bit. "Yeah, that's a good word for him."

"Did you know he was gonna hit that guy?"

"No. But I probably should've. Michael's hit lots of guys."

"Yeah." Liz couldn't recall him ever hitting a guy on her behalf, but then again, she'd never been in that kind of situation. "Isn't that sort of how you guys ended up together in the first place?" she asked. "Didn't he punch out some grabby customers in the Crashdown and accidentally get you fired?"

"Um . . . yeah," Maria confirmed.

 _Does Max know that?_ she wondered. Would it even matter if he did? "And now he's punching out someone else for you."

Maria narrowed her eyes curiously. "What're you insinuating, Liz?"

"No, I'm not trying to insinuate anything. I guess I'm just . . . wondering."

"Wondering what?"

Wasn't it obvious? Surely Maria had wondered the exact same thing. "Does Michael still love you?"

For a second, Maria bristled. She looked majorly uncomfortable with the question and immediately dismissed it. "What? No. Obviously. I mean, he's with Sarah."

"Yeah, but . . . does he still love _you_?"

Maria looked right at her and reiterated, "He loves Sarah."

 _That's not what I'm asking, though,_ Liz thought in frustration. It had to be possible to love two people at the same time.

Maria's posture relaxed, and she said, "Look, the truth is, Michael and I are always gonna have a connection. But that's all it is, a connection. It's not love. Not anymore."

Liz nodded, but inside, she still felt skeptical. Michael and Maria were spending a lot of time together, and it seemed to her that they were getting closer. Maybe Max wasn't worried about it, but . . . she was.

...

The new week had never felt quite so new to Michael as this one did. He felt reinvigorated, like a freed man who was no longer being hunted down or something. He just hoped getting back in the swing of things would be easy.

When he showed up at Pound again, he checked in with Vanessa first. When she saw him come into her office, she nearly laughed. "Michael Guerin. Are you back from the dead?"

"Sorry I wasn't around last week," he apologized. "I had to deal with some stuff."

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. It is now." He sighed, inquiring, "How's Jake?"

As if on cue, he heard a loud scream from out in the hallway.

He groaned. "Forget I asked."

Lunch that day was Jake's first official Circle of Friends, and since Vanessa was in a meeting, Michael was left to run it himself. He tried to assure himself that he was prepared, but in reality, he knew it would be a disaster before it even started.

Dylan was the first to show up in the office, and two other boys came shortly after. Jake himself was last, because he'd been in the nurse's office crying. And screaming. Always screaming.

The crying stopped, but the screaming didn't. The five of them sat around Vanessa's desk with their lunch trays, all sort of staring helplessly as Jake nearly busted his lungs. Michael felt completely clueless as to what to do, so he suggested, "Hey, how about some music?" and navigated to Youtube on Vanessa's computer. He clicked on the first music video that showed up, not even caring if it was appropriate. A song he didn't recognize started to play, and Jake's screaming got quieter, but it still didn't completely stop.

"Does he like music?" Dylan asked.

"Yeah," Michael replied. Sensing an opportunity to get some kind of conversation going, he asked the boys, "Do you like music, too?"

They all nodded, still watching Jake. It was almost as if they were afraid of him.

"My mom likes music," Dylan said.

Michael smiled at him. "Yeah, I know she does." God, what he would have done to have Maria there right now. She could have sung something. Maybe that would have been enough to calm Jake down. At the very least, his screaming was dying down significantly, though, as the song wore on. It was more of a squeaky whimper now, and it wasn't so constant.

"I like Metallica," Michael remarked.

"What's that?" one of the boys asked.

"Only the greatest band of all time. They literally have no bad songs."

Jake finally stopped screaming, and he started pointing to the computer adamantly, as if he were trying to say something.

"What's he want?" Dylan inquired

"I don't know." Michael really wished he could read this kid's mind. Would've made things a lot easier. "Maybe he's just sayin' he likes this song."

A rare moment of silence descended upon all of them, and they were all finally able to eat a few bites. Jake never wanted to eat lunch, though. He was too preoccupied with everything going on around him

"I like Taylor Swift," one of the boys mumbled suddenly.

Michael almost choked on his food. "Taylor—Taylor _Swift_?" What the hell? He couldn't openly express his disdain, though, not when he was supposed to be a nice, easy-to-get-along-with staff member. So he swallowed his pride and said, "Yeah, she's . . ." He just couldn't bring himself to say _really good_ or _really cool,_ though, so he settled for ". . . really famous," instead.

...

Something was different when Maria walked into Music Appreciation on Tuesday. She noticed it right away. People gave her weird looks from the moment she walked through the door. It was like they knew what had happened and were mad at her because she was the one responsible for having Billy removed from the classroom. And they probably _did_ know. Billy was quite the popular TA and seemed like a popular guy in general. He surely had a lot of friends, and he probably hadn't hesitated to give them his spin of the events leading up to his departure.

A lot of normal conversations quickly became hushed ones, and a lot of straight-on stares became subtle sideways glances as she came further into the room. She was certain they were talking about her, as if they knew the full story. But all they knew was that their favorite TA was gone.

Suddenly, she felt a presence beside her. Not just any presence, but Michael's presence. He said, "Let's go," and motioned his head towards their seats.

She smiled at him. As ridiculous as it was, just having him there with her made this easier. She didn't care if anyone was talking about her now. All she cared about was that she was with him.

As they walked together towards their beloved back row seats, she felt his hand on the small of her back, and she felt all the curious eyes stop paying attention to her. It was nice.


	49. Chapter 49

Max was happy to be having a mild winter. With his job, he'd freeze his ass off if it got too cold. This January so far had been chilly, but not flat-out cold. Every day he brought a thermos full of hot chocolate, though, just in case the temperature plummeted and he needed to warm up.

"Want some?" he asked Alan, holding out his thermos while they sat down on a huge stack of plywood for their break.

"Nah, I'm good," Alan said. "So have you talked to Liz?"

Max took a sip and nodded. "Yep."

Alan shook his head. "Not good, right? I don't know what the problem was. I thought I brought my A game."

"She just said she didn't feel a spark," Max told him.

"Dammit," Alan swore. "I didn't, either, you know? And I really wanted to, 'cause the girl's gorgeous."

"Yeah, she is," Max agreed. At this point, he really didn't know who Liz was going to end up with. _Maybe_ Alex was still a possibility. If not Alex . . . Max wasn't sure he could see anyone else being a stepfather to his daughter. He wanted the guy Liz ended up with to be a really good guy, someone who deserved her.

"Between her and Maria . . . I'll tell you . . ." Alan chuckled and shook his head. "I don't know how you do it, but you sure do have some beautiful women in your life."

"It's called impregnation. That's how I do it," Max joked.

"Well, that's pretty drastic. Holy shit," Alan swore, pointing forward. "Is that another one?"

Max shielded his eyes against the sun and caught sight of Isabel, strolling through their active construction site in high heels, leggings, and a dress. It didn't matter whether the other workers were hammering, lifting, or even operating the buzz saw. They _all_ stopped what they were doing when she walked past, and she got more than her fair share of cat calls.

"That's my sister," he told Alan, passing him his thermos as he stood up and wiped off his jeans.

"Dude, hook me up," Alan urged.

Max walked forward, grabbing Isabel's arm. He pulled her off towards the edge of the site and demanded, "What're you doin' here?"

"Oh, nothing," she replied. "Just on my way to class. I drove by and saw you sitting here, working hard at hardly working."

"I'm on break."

"If that's your story."

"Is there something you need?"

She shrugged. "Not really. Just wanted to say hi."

"Uh-huh." He didn't believe it. "Why are you really here?"

She sighed, giving in to tell him. "Alright, you got me," she acknowledged. "I didn't _just_ wanna say hi. I also wanted to see how you're doing in the wake of . . . everything."

"Everything?" he echoed.

"You know . . . sedate-gate."

" _Sedate-gate_?" What the hell was that.

"Yeah. I heard Maria was, like, drugged and sexually assaulted."

Where the hell had she heard that? This was college. Rumors were only supposed to spin out of control in high school. "No, she wasn't."

"Oh." Isabel frowned momentarily. "I mean, good. I'm so glad."

"Who told you that?"

"Friend of a friend," she explained. "Jesse knows a guy who knows that TA who got suspended."

"Well, the guy doesn't have his story straight," Max informed her. "She wasn't drugged. He came on to her, and she had to fend him off."

"Is it true that Michael got suspended, too?" she questioned eagerly, as if she was just _dying_ to know all the gossip.

"Yeah, but that got lifted."

"So everything's back to normal then."

"Yeah." Back to normal. Just the way he liked it.

"Hmm." She looked at him skeptically. "Don't you think it's a little weird that Maria's ex-boyfriend is still _so_ protective of her?"

"No." He honestly didn't. Maybe he had at first, but now that he knew the backstory, knew what Maria had dealt with in the past and what Michael had helped her get through . . . he didn't question it now.

"Well, I do," Isabel said. "Just don't get too complacent, Max. The second you start feeling like you and Maria are indestructible, she and Michael will fall into bed together."

"Isabel, you don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Don't I, though?" she countered. "Wasn't I once the third wheel in the Michael and Maria Love Saga of Doom?"

He didn't want to hear this, especially from someone as screwed up as her. "Goodbye, Isabel," he said, heading back on site.

"I'm just saying!" she called after him. "Don't say I didn't warn you!"

He rolled his eyes. Typical Isabel, so desperate to be included, even at the expense of sounding like a bitch.

...

Michael lost his January work schedule, so he wasn't sure whether or not he was supposed to be down at the Vidorra front desk that afternoon or not. He went, though, just because Maria was on duty. It wasn't like working with her was such a huge chore.

They didn't have much to do, though, so he brought out his laptop. Normally he would have either Skyped his mom or Tina _or_ watched a little porn. But he couldn't do either one of those things with Maria around, so he logged in to his university account and checked his grades instead.

He wasn't particularly thrilled with what he saw. C's, mostly. He was still trying to get caught up. Music Appreciation was bad, though. Right now, he was failing the class, because the only grade entered was that damn paper.

"Essay grades are in," he told Maria.

"Yeah, I saw that this morning," she said, lifting her feet up as she spun her chair around. "I actually did pretty good."

"Wish I could say the same," he muttered, unaccustomed to this. Failing an assignment? He hadn't done that since . . . well, high school.

She stopped spinning, scooting towards him, swaying from side to side a bit as if she were dizzy. "Why? What'd you get?" she asked.

Reluctantly, he angled his computer so she could see for herself. A fucking sixty-eight percent.

"Oh." She frowned. "I thought you had Sarah look through it, though."

"I did."

Her frown intensified. "Then why is it so low?"

" 'cause it was late." He exited out of the online gradebook, pissed but not infuriated.

"But you were suspended," she pointed out.

"Exactly."

"But it was because of something Billy did."

"But I still hit the guy. I got suspended. So it's late."

"That doesn't seem fair," she complained. "Your grade shouldn't go down just because you were looking out for me."

"It's fine." Even though he wasn't used to it . . . it was worth it. It was all worth it in the end. He didn't want her feeling guilty for something he'd _chosen_ to do.

Inevitably, she did, though, because she said, "I feel bad."

"Don't feel bad. It's fine. It's still early in the semester. I'll get my grade up."

"But what about your precious GPA?"

He shrugged. So Sarah would probably pull ahead of him this year. He could live with that. "As long as I keep a 3.5, I'm fine. They're not gonna get rid of my scholarships or anything."

"Well . . . okay," she said. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure. It's fine." He closed his whole computer and leaned back in his chair, hands linked together behind his head as he yawned.

"I just wish there was some way I could make it up to you," she said.

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a suggestive look.

"Don't even go there," she warned.

"What? I didn't go there. You went there."

"Oh, whatever."

He grinned, reiterating, "I didn't go anywhere," teasingly, even though, yeah, his mind had _definitely_ gone somewhere. Just for a little bit.

...

Maria pulled Max into the bedroom by his shirt collar, not bothering to disguise what she wanted to do. They hadn't slept together since the whole ordeal with Billy had gone down, and she didn't want Max thinking she was fragile because of it.

"Are you sure you want to?" he asked her, placing his hands on her hips.

"Yeah." There was nothing holding her back, so unless there was something holding _him_ back . . . what was the hold up?

"I just . . . if you need a little more time . . ." he offered considerately.

"Max." She smiled at him reassuringly. "You don't have to be afraid to touch me." She wasn't going to let this be something that damaged her for life. The memory of Billy Darden would not stick with her the way the memory of James Winston had.

Slowly, hesitantly, he pulled her closer, leaning down to press his mouth against hers. She kissed him deeply right from the start, trying to wordlessly communicate her desire. She was a sexual person, and she wanted this.

Clothes came off quickly, and before she knew it, they were in bed, under the covers, him on top of her. She spread her legs apart as he settled in between them, and soon after, she felt him enter into her. As if any and all of his uncertainty were now gone, he started to move his hips right away. He lowered his face to rest against the side of her neck, kissing and sucking on her skin as he rocked within her.

This felt good. Max had learned not to go too fast, and her pleasure was certainly a higher priority to him now than it had been back in high school.

She let out a moan that must have sounded more like a whimper, because his whole body immediately stilled, and he lifted his head up. And when he did . . .

Her eyes got wide as she looked up at him. Because it wasn't him she was seeing. It was . . . _Michael._ Just Michael.

 _Oh my god,_ she thought frantically, trying to get the image of him out of her mind. _Oh my god._

"You okay?" Max asked her.

She blinked a few times, effectively dissolving Michael's face, and all she saw was Max again. Her son's father. Her boyfriend. The man she would probably marry someday.

Not Michael.

"I'm fine," she assured him, trying to smile.

He smiled back at her, kissing her on the lips one more time before he started to roll his hips forward some more. He again lowered his head to bury against her neck, and then he continued on, unaware that anything was wrong.

It was _so_ wrong, though, and Maria knew it. All she could think about was Michael. Her mind was often plenty preoccupied with him these days, and she was only human, so sometimes her mind relapsed into sex territory. But remembering what it had been like to be in bed with him _while_ she was in bed with Max made her feel filthy and ashamed.

But she couldn't stop. Once the memories started, they just flooded her. Overpowering. Michael's hands on her waist, lips whispering dirty things in her ear. Michael's sweat-soaked body sliding against hers, hips thrusting hard, adamantly. Her own strangled cry when he touched her and kissed her and made her cum _over_ and _over_ again.

She came with Max, too, and she wasn't sure whether it was because of what he was doing to her, or because of what she was picturing. All she knew was that thinking of Michael made this feel even better than it usually did. And that knowledge made her feel even worse.

...

Maria couldn't even look at Michael when he walked into class the next day. After last night, it just felt perverted.

"Hey," he said as he plopped down in his seat.

"Hey." She realized now that she should have had her phone out, or iPod, or _something_ to make her look occupied. Right now, she felt wicked conspicuous just staring down at her lap.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Fine," she answered too quickly. She felt him staring at her curiously, and when she cast a quick glance over at him, his whole face was wrinkled in confusion. "What?" she said innocently.

"You're acting weird."

 _I know._ She grunted. " _You're_ acting weird."

He grinned. "Great comeback."

"Shut up." She laughed, easing up a little. _This is fine,_ she assured herself. This was no different than any other class with him. So what if her mind had ventured into X-rated reminiscence last night? It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last. There was nothing wrong with inappropriate thoughts as long as you didn't act on them.

Thankfully, class began shortly after Michael showed up, and the topic of conversation today was actually fairly engrossing. Since they were studying the 1960s, it was almost inevitable that they devote some time solely to the Beatles. Their professor seemed quite enthused about it, the most enthused Maria had seen him in the wake of the whole Billy fiasco.

"Describe the Beatles to me in one word," the professor instructed. Hands went up, and he started calling on people. Answers ranged from _influential_ to _iconic,_ and Maria volunteered _classic_ as her description of choice. One particular student actually had the audacity to say _overrated,_ which garnered a shocked gasp from everyone else in the room, except for the professor, who assured him, "That's your opinion, and that's fine."

Their discussion then shifted into an attempt to classify that Beatles genre of music. While the consensus seemed to be that classic rock was the most accurate way to describe them, one know-it-all girl in the front row pointed out that the genre couldn't apply to them when they made their debut back in the sixties, because they had only been emerging back then. The professor thanked her for pointing that out and used that as a segue for a bit of lecture.

"Is it fair to say that the Beatles always were a part of pop music?" he asked the class. "Now I know pop has a stigma—these days we tend to think of the Miley Cyruses and Lady Gagas of the world—but in its purest form, it's a derivative of mid-century rock and roll. It's an eclectic genre meant to encompass _popular_ music, music that appeals to a mass audience rather than a particular sub-culture. And I doubt anyone in here would deny that the Beatles were indeed massive."

The discussion continued on, and Maria even contributed something to it. In her opinion, the early day Beatles were more identifiable as pop music, though they certainly fit in with where rock music was at during the time. But once the acid trips _really_ started influencing their music, they had more of a rock sound, almost a psychedelic one. She liked either style.

"The purpose of this discussion," the professor said, "is to set you up for next week. I'll tell you what: This wasn't in my original lesson plans, but I woke up this morning, and just thought . . . _hey, let's do it._ Next week, we're gonna have sort of an open mic night, except during the day. I wanna invite any and all musicians and singers in this class to come up here and show us their talent."

Maria sat up straighter, intrigued. This was her whole basis for taking the class, because she wanted to _hear_ music, not just study it.

"I would like whatever songs you sing to be identifiable within the pop genre. Now it can be the Beatles, but it doesn't have to be. It can be something that's morphed into classic rock over time, or it can be something extremely recent. It doesn't matter to me as long as it would be considered _popular_. My hope is that we'll hear a wide variety of songs from throughout the past six decades, and we'll be able to more wholly embrace the idea of how pop music has transformed over time."

Maria smiled excitedly, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Michael smiling at her, too.

When class got over and they walked out into the hall, he wasted no time asking, "So you're gonna sing somethin', right?"

She sighed reluctantly. "I don't know."

"Are you kidding? You have to. Show 'em how it's done."

"But I haven't sung in front of anyone for a really long time," she protested.

"All the more reason to do this then."

She wasn't as certain as he was, though. It just seemed to her that, whenever she did anything that was self-indulgent, she ended up paying the price for it. But then again, this wasn't a road trip that would require her to hit the road and leave Dylan behind. This was one song during one session of one class. What harm could it possibly do?

"I'll think about it," she decided.

"Don't think about it; just do it," he urged.

"What is that, like your motto for life?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

 _Yeah,_ she thought, smiling up at him, various melodies to numerous songs already drifting through her head. _Why not?_

...

After yet another Saturday devoted to a lackluster basketball tournament, Maria felt like she needed to blow off some steam. Dylan was spending the night at Luke's house, so she and Max could go out. Or stay in. Or go to Michael and Sarah's place, because she'd received a text that morning from Sarah inviting them over. Apparently, as fate would have it, Tess and Kyle were expecting twins, and she and Michael were throwing a sort of congratulatory party for them.

Max let Maria decide what to do, and while she pretended to think about it for a few hours, her mind was pretty much made up from the moment she received the text. They were going to Michael's place.

"This is gonna be fun, right?" she said as they walked into Vidorra. She waved at the girl behind the front desk, a sophomore named Caitlyn whom she'd worked with a few times.

"Should be," Max said. "Who's all gonna be there?"

She stopped at the elevator and pressed the up button. "Well, Tess and Kyle, obviously. I mean, it's a party _for_ them. And I'm sure Liz got invited, too. And some of their other friends, like Steve and Cheryl. Probably Monk and Fly."

"Monk and Fly?" he echoed, giving her a funny look as the elevator doors opened. "What kind of names are these?"

"I don't know, but I've met them before. They're nice guys." They got on the elevator, and she pressed the button for the third floor as the doors shut. "You know what I decided?" she said as they rode up. "Tonight, I'm gonna figure out once and for all why Tess dislikes me so much."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. Because Sarah invites us to stuff all the time, and whenever Tess is there, I feel like I'm walking around on eggshells." Quite frankly, she was tired of it. Whatever the animosity was between her and Tess, she just wanted them both to get past it.

"That's how I feel around Michael," Max admitted, stepping off the elevator when the doors reopened. "But I know that'll never change."

"No, it won't," Maria agreed as she walked with him down the hall. "But seriously, I don't get Tess, though. I know she wasn't my biggest fan because of how I broke up Michael and Isabel, but that was years ago. Haven't we both grown up and matured since then?" She growled in frustration, shaking her head. "I swear . . . I'm gonna get to the bottom of it."

"You do that," Max urged. "You're a regular detective."

"Yeah, we'll see." She wasn't going to put a damper on this get-together by any means, but she was going to confront Tess about their issues. Because maybe if they worked their issues out, maybe Max and Michael would possibly do the same. A girl could dream, right?

...

Michael took two bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade out of the refrigerator, a regular one for himself and a black cherry for Kyle. He quickly yanked off the caps with a bottle opener and happily declared, "Mike's Hard Lemonade is the only lemonade," as he took a drink.

"Damn straight," Kyle agreed, taking a drink as well. "Mmm, look who's here." He motioned to the front door, and Michael turned around to see Maria and Max coming in. As if his apartment wasn't crowded enough already right now. There was room for Maria, sure. But there wasn't room for Max.

"I don't know why the hell Sarah invited him," he grumbled. This was supposed to be a party for Tess and Kyle. It wasn't like Max was friends with either one of them.

"You've gotten used to hanging out with Maria, though, huh?" Kyle remarked.

"Yeah." He took a big gulp of his drink and set the bottle down on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I'll never get used to Max." He glared at the guy, hoping he'd look over and see that glare.

"You know, it kinda seemed like he had your back during the whole Billy thing, though," Kyle pointed out.

Michael shot his friend a horrified look. "Oh, no. No. Don't tell me you've hopped on the We-Love-Max train. Don't tell me you've sipped the Kool-Aid." There were enough people doing that already.

"No way, man," Kyle quickly assured him. "I was there the night he took Dylan. I'll never forget how that all went down."

"So you hate Max then?"

Kyle sighed. "Put it this way: I hate him if you hate him. Alright?"

"Good." Because he did.

...

"So you're Monk and you're . . . Flea?" Max asked unsurely.

"No, Fly. Flea's fitting, though, 'cause I scratch my balls a lot." He held out his hand and said, "Nice to meet you, chico."

"Oh, uh . . ." Instead of shaking his hand, Max wisely gave him a fist-bump instead. "You, too."

Maria watched the exchange, laughing a little, and then she left Max to mingle with the guys in the living room. Steve was there, too, and he was normal, so at least Max would have someone to talk to.

With it being such a small, almost studio style apartment, the girls weren't far away. Tess was halfway sitting, halfway lying on the bed, and Sarah was sitting beside her. Cheryl and Liz were both standing near them, and they were all chattering together. Effortlessly. Maria wasn't even really sure how to barge in without . . . well, barging.

"Hey," she said as she approached the group.

"Oh, hey, Maria!" Sarah exclaimed, getting up. She hugged her, like she usually did, and said, "I'm so glad you came." And she actually did sound glad. That was the thing with Sarah: She was always genuine. Nothing she said ever came off as phony.

"Thanks for inviting me," Maria said, trying to sound equally as genuine. The truth was, as strange as it was to be hanging out in Michael's apartment with Michael himself and Michael's girlfriend, she actually was grateful to be included. She'd never really had friends before, except for Liz. But Sarah clearly wanted her to be a part of this group. For whatever reason. She didn't feel as if she were adding a whole lot to it.

"Congratulations, Tess," she said, making sure to note the reason why they were all there in the first place. "Twins. That's . . . a really big deal."

Tess made a face and snapped, "Yeah, I already know how big I am, thanks."

"Oh, no, I mean big as in, like, life-changing."

"Oh." Tess rolled her eyes regardless. "Whatever."

 _And it begins,_ Maria thought.

Obviously trying to diffuse the tension, Cheryl cleared her throat and piped up, "So, Maria, Liz mentioned that your son played well in his basketball game today."

"Yeah. He scored, uh . . . nine points. I think." Max would know, but she'd sort of lost track on account of the game feeling _incredibly_ slow during the second half.

"That's awesome. Good for him," Sarah chimed. She leaned to the side, peering around Maria, and said, "Uh-oh, looks like my food assortment's running low. I gotta take care of that."

"I'll help you," Chery volunteered, adding, "Excuse me," and she and Sarah stepped around Maria and Liz.

It seemed to dawn on Tess that she was left alone with Maria and Liz, because she said, "Wait. Wait for me," and got up and followed them as quickly as she could in her ever-widening condition.

Liz sat down on the bed, stirring her drink with her straw. Maria wasn't sure what it was, but it looked fruity, so it was probably more for the girls.

"Sit," Liz said, patting the bed.

 _Oh, this is weird,_ Maria thought, reluctantly plopping her butt down. This was the bed where Michael and Sarah slept every night. And did other things.

"Glad you came," Liz said.

"Yeah." Despite Tess's attitude, it did look like the night could be a pretty fun one. The music was going and the drinks were flowing, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Even Max was laughing now at something Steve said. Maybe he'd end up making a few new friends tonight.

"So . . ." Maria said, pausing dramatically. "When do I officially lose you as my best friend?"

"What?" Liz made a face. "What're you talking about?"

"You and Sarah just get along so well together."

"Well, she's easy to get along with," Liz responded simply. " _You're_ my best friend, though, Maria. You and Alex."

"I know. I'm just sort of envious," she admitted. "You fit in so well with all of them."

Liz laughed lightly. "Which is ironic, because I used to be such a wallflower in high school. You fit in, though, Maria."

Maria shook her head. "Not like you do."

"Sarah likes you. Cheryl . . . maybe doesn't know you so well yet, but I'm sure she'll like you."

"And Tess?"

"Okay, well, between you and me, Tess is kinda bitchy under normal circumstances, so when she's pregnant . . . watch out."

Maria could definitely agree with that.

Once they were all sufficiently buzzed, a game of charades started up, and the teams were split along gender lines. The boys were absolutely pathetic, and it seemed like they were cheating. How else could the game have even been close at the end? Kyle was supposed to be the captain of the boys team, so when it was time for the last clue, he got up to give it. Sarah showed him a card, and he nodded confidently, holding up two fingers.

"Two words," Steve said.

Kyle made an obvious motion with his arm, as if he were throwing a football downfield.

"Football," Michael blurted.

Kyle nodded and motioned exaggeratedly between the two of them.

"Bromance," Michael guessed, and then he just kept on guessing. "Bro-date. Bro-down. Bro-hug. Bros for life."

"Find a new theme, man," Kyle told him.

"Oh, he talked!" Sarah exclaimed. "We win! Girls wins!"

"Yeah!" Cheryl and Liz exclaimed.

"Woo!" Tess's voice rang out. She threw her hands in the air, and her shirt, which clearly wasn't a maternity shirt, rose up very high on her stomach. Fly's eyes almost bulged out of his head when he saw that.

Kyle gave Michael an exasperated look. "Football _player_."

"Oh, yeah," Michael said, "that makes more sense."

Maria smiled at his cluelessness. Honestly, Football Bromance sounded like a great name for a comedy or something.

"Oh, my brownies are done," Sarah announced when the oven timer rang out. She darted into the kitchen, put her obviously often-used oven mitt on, and took the pan out of the oven. The delicious aroma wafted through the air immediately, of course. "Once they cool off a bit, dig right in, okay?" she urged.

"Yeah, her brownies are really good," Michael said. "They're not 'special brownies,' though. Sorry to disappoint . . . anyone." He cast a pointed glance at Max.

"Oh, don't worry, chico," Fly said. "I had some special brownies before I came here."

"So did I," Monk declared.

"Really, Monk?" Michael sounded surprised, which Maria personally didn't understand, because Monk's voice had always made him seem like a big stoner to her.

"Yeah," he said. "I used nutmeg."

"No, no, those aren't the special brownies we're talkin' about," Michael told him.

Sensing that the boys could distract themselves with this conversation for a while, Maria turned to Tess and took the initiative to ask, "Hey, Tess, could I talk to you?"

Tess didn't look too enthused. But a minute later, she was following Maria into the bathroom anyway, the one place in that apartment where they could actually carry on a conversation in private.

"Congratulations again, by the way," Maria told her, figuring it might not hurt to try to kill her with kindness.

"Okay, Maria, you can just save it, alright?" Tess snapped. "I don't wanna hear it."

"Hear what? I'm just trying to be nice." She didn't understand what was so bad about that. "I don't get it, Tess. What do you have against me?"

Tess sighed. "You really wanna know?"

"Yes."

Tess nodded. "Okay. Believe it or not, it has nothing to do with Isabel. Sure, you and Michael propelled her downward spiral, but you didn't mean to. And ultimately, she has no one to blame but herself for all the bad choices she's made."

"So . . . what is it then?" If not Isabel, then what else was there? "Do you just not like me or something?"

"I don't like what you did."

"What I did?" Wasn't this _not_ about Isabel, though?

"You just left," Tess said accusingly. "You just left Michael. The way I see it, that's the coward's way out."

Maria absorbed that as best she could. So it _was_ about him then. She'd heard this all before from a very angry eighth grade girl. "I wasn't . . . I wasn't trying to be cowardly," she explained. "I was just trying to do what I thought was best for him."

"And it probably was," Tess acknowledged. "Because look at him now: He's got school and Sarah. And Sarah's my best friend, so I'm glad they're together."

"Then why are you still mad at me?" If they could both agree that Michael's life was better this way than it would have been if he'd stayed with her, what conflict was there?

"Put yourself in my shoes, Maria. My fiancé was _paralyzed_. His entire life changed in an instant, and so did mine. Every vision we had of our future together . . . it just fell apart. _He_ fell apart." Her eyes started to shine a little with tears, but she kept them pushed down. "And I could've just given up on him and left him, but I didn't; I stuck with him. Even though I had to give up cheerleading, graduate a semester early, put off college . . . I did all of that. For him. And I'm not saying I've been perfect, because I know I haven't been, but . . . the one thing I have been is _here_."

Maria wasn't about to dispute that Tess had sacrificed a lot for Kyle, and as someone who had become a mother when she was fifteen, she could relate to that. But still . . . it just felt judgmental. "So . . . you don't like my decision to leave Michael?" she clarified. "That's it?"

"It's not really that I don't like it," Tess said. "It's that I don't respect it."

 _And the hits just keep on coming,_ Maria thought. There was really no way she could get mad—it was kind of hard (and also not very wise) to get mad at a pregnant woman. But hearing that wasn't easy. At all. It never would be.

"Sorry," Tess said, but she didn't really seem all that apologetic as she left the bathroom.

Maria took a deep breath and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. This was fine. At least she'd gotten some answers. But still, it wasn't easy knowing that people didn't respect you. Sure, some people did, but others like Tess and Tina probably never would. And that was frustrating.

...

After charades, everyone had kind of scattered to do their own thing. Liz, Sarah, and Cheryl were all swapping recipes, and Max, Steve, and Kyle were having some conversation about fatherhood that Michael couldn't really take part in that. So that left him with Monk and Fly as company, which normally wasn't so bad, except that when Tess came out of the bathroom, they couldn't really hold his interest. She joined the girls in the kitchen, and Maria came out a moment later. She looked . . . kind of upset, actually, and she didn't say anything to anyone as she slipped out the door. No one seemed to notice her leave, either. But Michael noticed. He noticed, and he wondered what was wrong.

"Yo, Mike, you listenin'?" Fly asked.

"What? No." Whatever story his friend was telling was probably either made up or one Michael had already heard a thousand times.

Fly scratched his head, looking confused when he asked, "What was—what was I sayin' again?"

"Obviously something really important," Michael mumbled sarcastically as he got up. "I'll be back." He made his way to the door, figuring no one would notice him leave if they hadn't noticed Maria do the same. And no one did as he walked right out.

She was standing out in the hallway, looking out the large glass windows. Even though she didn't even glance back over her shoulder, she seemed to know it was him right away. "This is a beautiful view," she said.

"Yeah, not bad," he agreed. The whole Vidorra complex was set up in a square shape with a courtyard down in the middle. There were sidewalks, benches, and outdoor lamps at night, so it really did look like a well-maintained park down there.

He ambled up beside her, looking down at the view for a few seconds before turning his back on the window so he could just face her instead. "What're you doin' out here?" he asked her.

"Nothing."

"You look sad." When she looked like this, he worried about her.

"Tess and I had a not-so-pleasant conversation," she told him.

"About what?"

"About why she doesn't like me."

He rolled his eyes. _Great._ Yeah, that sounded like the perfect conversation for what was supposed to be a fun party.

"Turns out, she doesn't respect me and thinks I was a coward to leave you," Maria revealed.

He groaned. "Didn't we already go through this with Tina?"

"Yeah. But apparently Tess feels the same way, so . . ." She shrugged. "Fun times, huh?"

"Look . . ." He understood why she was upset, but at the same time, he didn't want her to dwell on it. He moved in a little closer to her and said, "Tess is practically like a sister to me these days, but if you ask me, she's kinda bein' a hypocrite. Awhile back, she got so fed up with Kyle, she left. Went home to Roswell."

Maria's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah. But I went and got her the next day, brought her back."

"Huh."

"I mean, she had every right to leave. Kyle was bein' an ass."

"Kyle?" She seemed even more surprised about that.

"Yeah, you haven't seen the ass side of him." Thankfully Michael hadn't had to see it for a couple of months now. It wouldn't bother him if that side of him was dead and buried.

"Well, she _has_ still stuck with him, though," Maria acknowledged, "through a lot. And now it seems like they're doing so much better."

"Well, they're still a work in progress. But then again, most relationships are."

Her eyes met his, and a small smile finally graced her lips. "Are you and Sarah a work in progress?" she asked. "Or are you rock solid?"

"Hmm . . . what do you think?"

"I think you're rock solid. Don't you?"

 _I should,_ he thought. There was no reason why he shouldn't think that. But his words betrayed him. "I don't know . . ."

She tilted her head to the side, suddenly looking very . . . confused.

The door to the apartment swung open seconds later, and Kyle poked his head out. "Oh, hey," he said. "Uh . . ." He hesitated as he looked at the two of them standing there. "I think you're outta the hard lemonade."

Michael took a step away from Maria and replied, "No, there's more in the back of the fridge."

Kyle nodded, still hesitating, as if he wanted to say something. Or ask something. But then he went back inside and closed the door.

"You should probably go back in there," Maria advised him.

Actually, he felt fine out here. "He'll find it."

"Michael." She looked right at him and repeated herself. "You should go."

 _But that's the problem,_ he thought. _I don't want to._ He knew she was right, though, so he headed back inside, hoping she wouldn't stay out there by herself for too long.


	50. Chapter 50

The next morning, a knock on the door woke Michael, and he groaned. Whoever was out there had stopped by way too early, because he felt like he'd only been asleep for a couple of hours. And he probably only had been. The party last night had gone pretty late, with Tess and Kyle not leaving until after 3:00 a.m.

The knocking continued, though, despite his desire to just block it out, and when he opened his eyes, he came face to face with the big red numbers on the bedside alarm clock. Yeah, he'd only been asleep for four hours. This sucked.

He forced himself up and out of bed, because he heard the shower running, so that meant Sarah was up and probably getting ready for work today, unable to hear the knocking. He trudged to the door and opened it to find Kyle on the other side, dressed in an Under Armour t-shirt and gym shorts.

"Let's go for a run," his friend suggested eagerly.

Even though Michael could barely drag his ass out of his apartment, he accompanied his friend to the empty football field so they could run on the surrounding track. He didn't really feel like running at all, but the fact that Kyle did was a good thing. It was almost like old times, with Kyle encouraging him to work out and not the other way around. Except Kyle couldn't run the way he used to. At best, he could manage a light jog.

"Almost there," Michael said as he ran backwards towards their imaginary finish line. Kyle's steps were heavy and labored at this point, and he was practically panting for air, but he had the determination to finish. "Good job," Michael told him.

Kyle clasped his hands behind his heads, breathing heavily. "Damn," he swore. "That kicked my ass."

"But you made it," Michael pointed out, not even slightly winded. That pace had been equivalent to that of a speed walk. But since he was still tired, he didn't mind.

Kyle shook his head, almost as though he were embarrassed with himself. "You could probably run a mile in the time it takes me to jog one lap. Ridiculous."

"Hey, a couple months ago, you wouldn't have been able to do this," Michael reminded him. He picked up Kyle's water bottle from the edge of the track and handed it over to him. "Give yourself some credit."

"I guess." Kyle squirted an ample amount of water on his face, then took a drink. He groaned as he took a seat on the field, and Michael sat down beside him. Being out here made him realize just how much he was looking forward to next year's football season with the Bulldogs. All indications were that people still wanted him to coach. Even if he wasn't working at the school anymore, he was confident that they'd let him do it. They wanted him back.

"I miss it out here," Kyle said longingly.

"Yeah," Michael agreed. He knew it wasn't the coaching aspect of the game that Kyle was missing, though. He missed being out there as a player, as a quarterback. And Michael did, too. He'd given up this game to help his best friend through a tough time. And at least now it finally seemed like that help was paying off.

"I know I'll never be the way I used to be," Kyle acknowledged, "but I'm gonna get back in shape again. Get rid of this." He poked his stomach, which wasn't looking very big anymore. "Bring back these." He pointed to his upper arms, which hadn't lost all of their muscle but still weren't as jacked as they'd been in high school.

"I'm sure Tess will appreciate that," Michael remarked.

"I hope so."

"Hey, and hopefully she'll get _her_ hot body back after your kids roll out." Even though Tess annoyed him sometimes, there was no denying that she had a _sick_ little body. It would be a shame if all that went to waste. "She's gonna be fuckin' massive when this is all said and done."

"Yeah," Kyle agreed. "I don't know, I'm kinda into it, though. I think she's lookin' pretty good."

"Huh. So in other words, it's turnin' you on to see her knocked up?"

"Yeah. 'cause I'm the one who did it." Kyle smiled proudly and laughed a bit. "I don't know, I think it must be primal. You'll understand someday."

"Yep," Michael mumbled. "Someday." He wasn't about to feel sorry for himself, though, not when it was obvious that Kyle's spirits were high, so he asked, "Wanna do another lap?" and started to get up.

"Uh, I think I'm still recuperating from the last one," Kyle said. "You go ahead, though."

Michael sat back down. "Nah, I'm good." Working out had always been more of Kyle's thing. Really, the only reason why Michael ever did it at all was because of him.

Kyle took another drink out of his water bottle and held it out for Michael, but Michael shook his head to decline. He hadn't even broken a sweat yet, and at this rate, he probably wouldn't.

"Hey, so, uh, thanks again for throwin' me and Tess that party last night," Kyle said. "It was fun."

"It _was_ fun," Michael agreed. Even Max's presence hadn't been enough to ruin it.

"Tess said she and Maria had a—a conversation," Kyle went on. "Did you hear about that?"

"Yeah."

"Did Maria tell you?"

"Yep." He didn't really want to dive into it, though, because he was sort of pissed at Tess for making Maria feel like crap. "That's what we were talkin' about out in the hall."

"Oh." Kyle nodded, but much to Michael's surprise, instead of asking if he agreed with what Tess had said, he breezed right over that and inquired, "How long were you out there?" instead.

"Not long." It couldn't have been more than a few minutes. "Why?"

Kyle shrugged. "No reason."

Michael stared at him skeptically. There must have been a reason, otherwise he wouldn't have asked.

Finally, Kyle relented to saying a little more. "It's just . . . I don't know. You guys looked pretty . . . comfortable together."

Michael frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I just felt like I was interrupting when I walked out there."

What was there to interrupt? They'd been talking. That was all. "You didn't interrupt anything."

"No, I know. It's not like high school. I'm not gonna walk up on you guys makin' out in the woods again."

Even though it was probably meant to be a joke, Michael couldn't really find it in himself to laugh. "Yeah, that was a long time ago."

"Right." Kyle paused for just a moment, but clearly there was still something bothering him. "Besides, you've got Sarah now, and she's really good for you and everybody loves her, so . . ."

"What the hell are you gettin' at?" Michael snapped, growing impatient now.

"Nothing. Just forget I said anything."

"No, I wanna know."

Kyle sighed heavily, reluctantly, like he didn't _want_ to go any further. "Okay, to tell you the truth, last night, walkin' out into that hallway . . . it kind of reminded me of when I caught you guys together in the woods."

Michael made a face. "Why? It's not like I had my hands on her or anything." Sure, he'd been standing a little close, but they hadn't been doing anything wrong.

"It was more of a vibe than anything else."

 _A vibe?_ Michael considered it. Was there a vibe? _Crap._ He knew there was. There always had been. But that vibe was going to exist no matter what. There was nothing either of them could do about it.

"Look, I know that you and Maria are friends now," Kyle went on, "but . . . are you sure that's all you are?"

"I'm sure," Michael answered quickly. For the past four months, he'd made sure not to cross that line. And it wasn't like it had never been tempting.

" 'cause I assume you're still attracted to her," Kyle said. "And obviously you still care about her, 'cause you almost got kicked out of college for her. And it just seems like you guys have been together a lot lately. At school, work, parties . . ."

"Well, Sarah just keeps inviting her to stuff."

Kyle gave him a knowing look. "But you don't _really_ mind, right? I mean, I can tell. You like spending time with her."

He shifted nervously. "Yeah, sure I do." It was no secret that Max was the only one he hated being around.

"It's just obvious to me that Sarah trusts you a lot to _let_ you spend so much time with Maria again. And I wanna make sure you don't . . ."

"What, cheat on her?" Michael barked. "I'd never do that." Sarah wasn't Isabel; she meant way too much to him.

"I'm sure you wouldn't," Kyle said, "not physically, at least. But I don't think that's the only way to cheat."

"What the hell, man?" he groaned, starting to get pissed that they were even having this conversation. "Where's this comin' from?"

"Alright, I'm just gonna come right out and say it: Are you still in love with her?"

That question . . . _that_ question hit Michael like a ten ton truck. He hadn't expected it, and he didn't know how to respond. "I don't . . ." What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? If he said yes, then he was an ass. If he said no, then he was still an ass. And also lying. "I don't think that ever really goes away," he mumbled, "no matter how much time passes." It would have been simpler if it did.

"So . . . you still love her?" Kyle asked for clarification.

Michael sighed. "Think about it, alright? If Tess broke up with you and went off and started up this whole family with someone else, you'd still love her, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, of course."

"See? She's just that person to you." There. Done. Explained. Michael didn't want to say any more about it.

But Kyle wouldn't let it go. "And Maria's that person to _you_?" he asked. "What about Sarah?"

Michael's stomach felt like it was twisting itself into knots. He wasn't trying to make it sound like he was settling for Sarah, because that wasn't what he was doing at all. She was one of the most amazing people he had ever met. "I love Sarah," he said. "She makes me happy. I couldn't ask for a better girlfriend."

Kyle obviously knew there was more to it than that, though, so he urged, "But?"

"But . . ." He lowered his head, hesitant to state what had to be obvious at this point. He stared down at the ground and confessed, "Maria DeLuca is the love of my life." Then he swallowed the lump in his throat and quietly added, "She always will be."

Kyle didn't say anything, and Michael couldn't find it in himself to look at him. He thought that he might see . . . judgment, maybe? Disapproval? Disappointment? Maybe even concern.

But there it was. He'd said it, owned up, and he couldn't take it back now. It was the truth, and it was something he'd known for years, long before he'd ever known Sarah. It wasn't something he had tried to hide from himself or lie to himself about, but rather something he'd just tried to ignore. But now he couldn't ignore it, because he'd admitted it. And admitting it out loud, even just to Kyle, made him feel horrible. And confused.

And worried.

...

On Tuesday, Michael took a risk by bringing Jake with him to Music Appreciation. He cleared it with the professor, with the school, and of course with Jake's parents, and everyone seemed to think it was worth a shot. Nothing in the traditional classroom was helping him, and even the SPED department was having a hard time getting through. Bringing him onto a college campus was a Hail Mary, of sorts, but Michael had high hopes for it. The only class that engaged Jake was music, so why not squeeze more music into his day?

He stood in the back of the room with his nervous little buddy, praying that there wouldn't be another meltdown. There had already been a few. In the car, in the parking lot, on the front steps of the building. But now that he was in the room, surrounded by all these musicians who were strumming the strings of their guitars or warming up their vocal chords, he seemed much more at ease, mostly because he was just captivated by what they were doing.

"You alright, Jake?" Michael asked him.

Jake looked up at him with wide eyes, whimpered a bit, and then kept looking around.

"Yeah, you're alright." When Michael glanced towards the door, his gaze locked onto Maria as she walked in. She looked . . . beautiful. Definitely like a performer. Her hair was loosely swept off to one side in a ponytail, and she was wearing one of those long, flowy skirts and a short-sleeved white top that showed off about an inch of skin of her upper abdomen. Just enough to make him want to see more.

 _Don't stare,_ he told himself, but all he could think about was what he'd said to Kyle about her over the weekend.

She had this excited smile on her face as she weaved through all the other musicians and came towards him. "Hey," she said. "Well, look who you brought along."

"Yeah, I thought he might enjoy it." He held out his hand for a low high-five, and Jake hesitantly tapped it. "Hopefully he keeps his cool." Trying to teach him to do that very simple social thing was like trying to teach a dog a new trick. It was just something he'd have to learn, even though it came naturally to most everyone else his age.

"Seems like he's doing pretty well so far," Maria remarked.

"Yeah, as long as he hears music, he's fine." Michael squatted down in front of the little boy and said, "Hey, Jake, do you remember Dylan? This is his mom. This is Maria." He literally had to grab Jake by the shoulders—gently, of course—and turn him around to see Maria.

"Hi, Jake," she said, waving at him.

Instead of waving back, he just turned back around to Michael. He didn't look at Michael, though. His eyes were glued on a guy who was tuning his guitar, as if that were the most interesting thing in the world.

Michael stood up again and moved closer to Maria. But not too close. "So what're you gonna sing?" he asked her.

"A pop song," she replied.

"Oh, hey, that really narrows it down."

"A very _popular_ pop song."

"Yeah? Where's your guitar?"

"I didn't have time to learn it on guitar, so see that guy up there?" She pointed to the front of the classroom, where a chubby Asian guy was setting up his keyboard. "He's gonna play it while I sing."

Once again, he tried to get some info out of her. "And you're singing what exactly?"

She smirked. "You're just gonna have to wait and see. You'll hate it, though."

"Yeah, right. I could never hate anything you sing."

"No, not my singing, just the song," she clarified. "Hell, _I_ hate the song half the time."

"Then why are you singing it?"

She cringed. "Because the other half of the time, I love it."

He chuckled, already forming a theory. It had to be Britney Spears, because he remembered walking in on Maria watching some old Britney music videos on Youtube one time. She'd shut the computer so fast, almost faster than a little boy getting caught watching porn.

"Alright, everyone, let's go ahead and be seated," the professor announced suddenly. "I hope everyone's as excited as I am to hear some great music today."

 _I'm excited,_ Michael thought, but he didn't really give a rat's ass about any of the other musicians in that room. He just wanted to hear Maria.

"Come with me, Jake," he said, holding out his hand. Jake tried to give him a low high-five again, so Michael scooped up his hand and led him to their seats. He made sure Jake was sitting in between him and Maria, just so he couldn't get up and run off.

As the music stopped and the professor started talking, Jake started to become agitated. His little whimpers started to increase in both volume and frequency, and Michael feared a full-out scream session was about to start. "You're fine," he assured Jake repeatedly. "You're okay."

Jake didn't seem to think he was okay, though. His arms and legs were starting to move, which wasn't a good sign.

 _Oh, crap,_ Michael thought. _What if this was a mistake?_ If Jake ended up having a meltdown, he'd have to get him out of there and drive him back to the school. And then he'd end up missing Maria's performance.

"Hey, Jake?" Maria whispered. She managed to get his attention, and Michael watched intently as she lightly drummed her hands against her legs, creating a faint but still audible sound. A beat, a rhythm. Jake was immediately entranced by it, and a few seconds later, he was hitting his own legs, too, trying to replicate that same beat.

"Good job," Maria told him, and he actually almost smiled. Almost.

Michael breathed an inward sigh of relief and stared at Maria in awe. _Genius,_ he thought. Just like that, she'd been able to reach Jake in a way he'd failed to for four weeks now. But it seemed to be working. As long as Jake was making 'music' with his hands, he wasn't panicking.

Once the music started, Jake didn't need any coping mechanism. He was able to just sit and listen, and he actually really seemed to be enjoying himself. Michael took a few pictures on his phone and sent them to Vanessa, knowing she'd be thrilled to see how well he was doing.

It was weird, but sitting there with Jake and Maria . . . it brought Michael back. Even though Jake wasn't Dylan, even though they were two _completely_ different little boys, it reminded him of what it used to feel like when it was just the three of them. He wondered if Maria was feeling it, too, but he'd never know. Because he'd never ask.

In all reality, the songs and singers bored him while he waited for Maria to go. She was the only one he cared about seeing. The other singers were fine. No one was particularly bad or off-key. They just weren't anything special. And Maria was special. He was sure of that.

Finally, it was her turn, and as she got up, she said, "Wish me luck." But he just smiled at her, because she didn't need luck. She had talent.

"Um, okay," the Asian guy said as he sat down behind his keyboard. "I can't sing a note to save my life, but I've been playing piano since I was three, and I really wanted to share that with all of you. Maria here was nice enough to agree to do this song with me. So . . . enjoy."

 _Oh, I will,_ Michael thought. He cast one more quick glance at Jake, just to make sure he was still doing okay, because while Maria was singing . . . he knew he wouldn't be able to look away.

His heart started to pound in anticipation as Maria sat down on a stool next to the keyboard and the pianist started to play. Michael didn't recognize the song at first, not until Maria started singing.

" _We clawed, we chained our hearts in vain_

 _We jumped, never asking why_

 _We kissed, I fell under your spell_

 _A love no one could deny."_

She was right. He hated the song. But he already loved her version of it. With just her voice and the piano playing, it was . . . transcendent. He didn't feel like he was in a classroom surrounded by other people anymore. He felt like it was just the two of them up in his bedroom, and she was singing just for him. And maybe she was. Maybe there was no one else in there for her, either.

" _Don't you ever say I just walked away_

 _I will always want you_

 _I can't live a lie, running for my life_

 _I will always want you."_

She didn't look up a whole lot when she sang, didn't make a lot of eye contact. She looked very thoughtful and introspective as she sang the lyrics, and he wondered if it was because it was hitting home for her. It sure as hell was for him. Especially when she finally did lift her eyes. They went straight to his, past everyone else in the classroom, all the way to the back of the room where he sat motionless, entranced.

" _I came in like a wrecking ball_

 _I never hit so hard in love_

 _All I wanted was to break your walls_

 _All you ever did was wreck me_

 _Yeah, you, you wreck me."_

He knew he shouldn't be there. There was really no legitimate reason for him to be taking that class, as much as he'd tried to convince himself there was. In his heart, he knew the only reason he was sitting there listening to her sing this song right now was because there was nowhere else in the world he would have rather been.

That was a problem.

" _I put you high up in the sky_

 _And now you're not coming down_

 _It slowly turned, you let me burn_

 _And now we're ashes on the ground."_

This always happened. Whenever she sang, he just let it saturate him. She had this talent that was utterly captivating, and most of the time, he doubted she really even understood how good she was. Because she was full of self-doubt, and she always had been. But in that moment, he didn't doubt anything about her. Not one thing.

" _Don't you ever say I just walked away_

 _I will always want you_

 _I can't live a lie, running for my life_

 _I will always want you."_

He had more than just a pounding heart now. He felt something in his gut, twisting and turning, making its presence known. It was that same feeling he'd had when he'd seen her on campus for the first time and walked out into the middle of traffic just because he was so mesmerized by her. He was mesmerized right now, too, just as he'd expected to be. Even if he'd wanted to look away, he wouldn't have been able to.

" _I came in like a wrecking ball_

 _I never hit so hard in love_

 _All I wanted was to break your walls_

 _All you ever did was wreck me."_

As he listened to her, watched her, he wondered how he had ever managed to go without this. To go _years_ without it. Had he ever really been content without moments like these? Or had something always been missing? What if the past two and half years of his life had been one gigantic lie? Because nothing in that whole time had felt as real or as powerful as this.

This was a _big_ problem.

" _I came in like a wrecking ball_

 _Yeah, I just closed my eyes and swung_

 _Left me crashing in a blazing fall_

 _All you ever did was wreck me_

 _Yeah, you, you wreck me."_

The applause started up, but Michael couldn't even manage to do that. All he could do was sit and stare at her some more. She smiled and mouthed 'thank you' to the other students, and when she looked at him again, that smile fell. It wasn't that she looked sad or unhappy, though. She just . . . she just looked. Right at him. And he did the same to her. Inside, in his overpowering heart and messed up mind, he had the same reaction now that he'd had when he'd heard her sing for the first time.

 _Oh my god._

It wasn't like something had sparked inside, though. No. Something had never gone out to begin with. So now it just burned a little hotter.

...

Insomnia struck Michael that night, and it struck hard.

He lay on his back in the darkness, unable to shut his mind off. It was racing. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Maria, saw her mouth moving as she sang the words of that song today. Or he heard her. He couldn't shut it off.

It didn't help that he was remembering the past, too, and it was all mixing into one. Mostly he was remembering what it had felt like in their last moment together. Or what he'd _thought_ was their last moment at the time. Watching her leave and being powerless to stop it was one of the worst memories of his life, second only to one. He remembered all the desperate, heartbroken things he'd said to try to get her to stay, and how none of them had worked.

" _I love you. You know I love you."_

Did she know that even now? Was she lying awake tonight, too, thinking back on the same thing he was? Mind racing . . .

" _I don't wanna lose you. I still wanna be with you."_

What if he still wanted that, even now?

" _I don't even know who I am without you."_

Was he still that same person who had stood on the street and watched her drive away? Sure, he had a job and good grades now, but had anything inside him _really_ changed? Maybe not. Maybe he was still the same pathetic loser who hadn't been able to convince her to stay. Maybe his life had never really gone anywhere because he was still stuck back there in Roswell, waiting for her.

" _You're the love of my life, and I'm not just gonna let you go!"_

What if letting her go had been a mistake? He could have had years of listening to her sing or seeing her smile. Or laugh.

" _We're supposed to be together."_

Feeling guilty, he looked over at Sarah, lying next to him, her naked back exposed by the blankets. He couldn't see her well in the darkness, but he could feel her. Right there. Always there. And always warm. And understanding. Probably way _too_ understanding for her own good.

He wanted to be able to say that she was the love of his life. He wanted to get lost gazing at her the way he had with Maria today. He wanted her to be the reason why he couldn't get to sleep tonight. But she just wasn't. And that wasn't her fault.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, furious with himself for feeling this way. Why couldn't he just . . . stop?

This wasn't good.


	51. Chapter 51

Michael felt like a corpse when he went to the elementary school the next day, which was bad because his day was going to be a full one. He'd barely managed to stay awake during his classes that morning, and now he was supposed to spend a few hours with Jake before heading back to campus to work a three-hour shift at Vidorra. Although, he was scheduled to work with Maria, so . . . time would fly.

He trudged to the classroom Jake was supposed to be in, but he wasn't there, so the next logical stop was the resource room. But he wasn't in there, either, so he popped into the office, and the secretary told him Jake had stayed home sick today.

 _So I came by for nothing,_ he thought, but he wasn't going to complain.

Since he had nothing to do, he stepped into Vanessa's office and offered himself up for assistance. "Need any help?"

"Oh, hi, Michael," she said. "Don't know what to do with yourself when Jake's absent, huh?"

"Yeah, I can actually hear myself think." He sat down in the chair across her desk and yawned.

"You don't look like you feel up to helping with anything," she noted.

"Yeah, I couldn't get to sleep last night." That was his own damn fault, though. Tonight, if he had the same issue, he was going to do the smart thing and just knock himself out with some Tylenol PM.

"Well, yesterday went well, huh?" she said, typing out an email while she spoke with him. "Jake's parents were pretty happy about it."

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna bring him back tomorrow and Friday. If he's not still sick."

"Hopefully he's not. That's a good experience for him."

"Mmm-hmm." Having Jake in class would be good for him, too, because it would give him someone to focus on. Someone _else_ to focus on. "You know what I realized yesterday? He doesn't even need to be hearing actual music to keep calm. He just needs to hear some kind of rhythm, you know? Like a pencil tapping or his hand hitting his lap."

Vanessa sighed. "Both things we try to discourage in a normal classroom."

"Yeah, but he's not a normal kid. I mean, right now, my only options are to take him out of the room or give him an iPod. And if I give him the iPod, the other kids start feelin' like that's not fair, and that makes them dislike him even more."

Vanessa stopped composing her email and looked up at him thoughtfully. "Hmm."

"So maybe if I can teach him how do the tapping and stuff quietly, without distracting everyone else . . . then maybe he might actually be able to stay in there. I mean, he's not gonna be payin' attention, but at least he wouldn't have to leave and the other kids wouldn't make a big deal out of it."

"Right," Vanessa agreed. "He'd get that social inclusion experience, which is really our ultimate goal with him."

"And he's in the back of the room, so if he's quiet enough, I don't think it'd be a problem."

"It'd be a coping mechanism for him," she said. "I like it. It's worth a shot. Good thinking, Michael."

He couldn't really give himself a mental pat on the back, though, not when he hadn't really been the one to discover this technique with him. "Actually, it wasn't even really my idea," he admitted.

"No?"

"No, he started freakin' out a little bit yesterday, but before it escalated, Maria just started tappin' out a beat with him, and it worked." He smiled, impressed. Maria would definitely make a good teacher someday. She knew how to work with kids.

"Maria?" Vanessa echoed curiously. "As in Dylan's mom?"

What, should he not have said that? "Yeah."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You were with her?"

 _Oh, shit._ This probably sounded a lot shadier than it actually was. "Well, she's taking the class."

Vanessa nodded slowly. "I see."

Michael shifted uncomfortably, wishing he hadn't said anything. He should have just taken credit for the idea, made himself look better and smarter than he really was.

"You're still maintaining a professional boundary with her, right?" she questioned.

He didn't want to lie to her, but at the same time, he didn't expect her to understand that things between him and Maria could never really be professional. "Yeah," he lied. "We're . . . professional."

She nodded again, but that skeptical look wasn't quite gone from her eyes. "Good," she said. "That's good."

 _No,_ Michael thought, _it's not_.

...

When Sarah emerged from the bathroom that evening, she had on some fancy lingerie, teal and black-colored. It was all silky and lacy, and it made her curves look even curvier. Michael sat back on the couch and just took in the sight, because it was quite a sight to see. He definitely didn't lack for beautiful women in his life.

Playfully, she swayed towards him, singing some little made-up tune where she only used 'do' as a word, but she could barely even keep a straight face as she tried to be seductive and ended up dissolving into laughter instead. "I can't do it," she said. "I can't be sexy."

"Oh, sure you can." She looked _very_ sexy in that miniscule little get-up. That was undeniable.

"Do you like?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips, striking a pose.

"Of course." He was pretty sure he'd given that bra and panties set to her for Christmas, so of course he liked.

"You know I only wear this stuff for you, right?"

"I know." She did a lot for him, spoiled him rotten half the time. He didn't deserve it.

She closed the distance between them, put one knee down on the couch, and then swung the other one over so she was straddling his lap. Like a stripper, but a classy one. One who wasn't afraid to move in extra close so she could drape her arms over his shoulders and kiss him. His body certainly reacted just as it always did when she pressed her hips in close to his; but even though he knew he wouldn't have a problem getting hard, he wasn't sure sex was such a good idea tonight.

"Michael, touch me," she whimpered.

"Oh, sorry." He hadn't even realized he wasn't already doing that, so he smoothed his hands up the sides of her legs and around to cup and squeeze her ass. Still, she must have sensed that something wasn't quite normal, though, because she asked, "Are you not into it?"

He gave her a look. "Are you kidding? Look at you. Of course I'm into it."

"But you don't seem into it."

He sighed. _Dammit._ Physically, his body was responding to all of this just fine. But he was distracted, just like he'd been all day today. And yesterday. And the stuff that was distracting him was just . . . wrong.

"I'm just tired," he told her, and hell, that wasn't really a lie. He'd barely moved from that couch since he'd gotten home, and that had been almost two hours ago.

"Are you too tired for sex?" she inquired.

"Hmm, maybe."

Her eyes widened in shock. " _Really_?"

He sighed again. No, not really. He was a guy, so he could pretty much always have sex no matter what. No matter what else was on his mind. "No, I can—I can do it," he assured her.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were being sarcastic."

 _Because I wasn't,_ he thought. He really did need to just get in that bed and try to get some rest. Maybe he would feel better tomorrow.

But she wanted tonight. She wanted him. And it wasn't that he _didn't_ want her. It was just . . .

. . . he had to focus. On her. The _whole_ time.

Sarah got up and held out her hand. "Come on," she said.

He took her hand and got to his feet, trying to disguise his discomfort with all of this as he let her lead him towards their bed.

...

Knowing she had a limited amount of time to finish decorating the cake in front of her, Liz worked frantically to reshape the outline of flowers around the edges of her creation. She should have finished decorating this before leaving work last night, but she'd been eager to get off her feet and get home. Now she had a customer coming in to pick it up in half an hour, and in her eyes, it still looked like crap.

"Why isn't this looking right?" she whined, taking a step back from it. Like an artist examining her work, she tilted her head to the side and squinted her eyes, trying to decide whether or not she was making it better or making it worse by continuing to work on it. Maybe it was best to just let it be.

"Looks fine to me," a familiar male voice said.

She looked up and bit back a groan when she saw her ex-boyfriend sauntering towards the counter. "Sean. What're you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Just thought I'd stop in and see how you're doing."

She put the clear plastic lid over the cake and slid it back underneath the counter. "I'm surprised you're not too busy screwing Alex's wife."

"Ex-wife," he corrected.

"They're not even divorced yet."

"They're in the process."

"Yeah, because of you." She grunted in disdain. "You know what? I can't even stand here and talk to you right now. I'm too disgusted by what you did."

He frowned. "That's kinda harsh."

"Well, you slept with a married woman, Sean. What did you expect?"

"I didn't know she was married at first," he insisted.

"Really? Was the wedding ring on her finger not a big enough clue?" She grunted again and shook her head, not in the mood to hear his excuses. "I'm just really disappointed in you. I thought you were a better guy than that." Sure, Sean had always been immature and irresponsible, but he'd never been . . . bad.

"You know, Liz, I'm really surprised," Sean said. "I thought you of all people would understand."

"Me?" She actually felt offended that he would even say that. "Okay, that was totally different. When I hooked up with Michael, he wasn't _married_ ; he was dating a girl he didn't even like half the time. I mean, I know I was still wrong to do it, but you and Leanna . . . that's a whole different level of wrong."

"I'm not talking about what you did in high school, Liz."

She flapped her arms against her sides, outright annoyed now. "Well, then I have no idea what the hell you're talking about or why you think I would _ever_ understand why you hooked up with Leanna."

"Oh, come on, Liz." He leaned against the counter, almost grinning at her. "We both know you'd hook up with Max in a heartbeat."

"Max?" she echoed, as if his name barely even crossed her mind. "What?" She tried to smile and laugh it off, but she was rattled. "No, I wouldn't."

"You would, if he offered."

"No." Sure, sometimes she woke up from steamy dreams and tried _really_ hard to fall back asleep so she could continue them, but . . . that wasn't real, and she was okay with it not being real. "We're close, yeah, but it's not like that."

"Sure it is. That's why you broke up with me," he stated factually. "Because I'm not him."

As much as she could have kept lying, she supposed there was no real point. Sean _did_ know her, and she _had_ constantly compared him to Max when they'd been dating, often right to his face. "So you thought I would give you a free pass on cheating because I still have a thing for Max?" She managed a laugh. "That's ridiculous."

"Whatever, Liz. I won't say anything." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled back on out of her bakery, and she was glad to see him go. Because the conversation they'd just had . . . it alarmed her.

All day, she struggled to forget about what he'd said. In her heart, she knew it wasn't true. She had way too much respect for herself _and_ for Max and Maria to ever jeopardize their relationship. But she _did_ have those urges, and she did have to resist them. She thought she'd done a good job of keeping them a secret, but if Sean knew . . . then what if it was only a matter of time until everyone else knew, too?

Alex came by that evening, and although he didn't say why, Liz knew he was probably just lonely. She made him dinner, and they sat in the living room and ate, and afterward he played with Scarlet a lot. She loved playing with Uncle Alex almost as much as she did with her dad. Eventually, she started yawning, though, and he took that as his cue to leave.

"Alright, it's gettin' late," he said. "I'd better go. Thanks for dinner, though, and lettin' me stop by."

"Yeah." She'd been a bit dazed, lost in thought all night, and knew she probably hadn't been the best company. She didn't even get up off the couch as he headed for the door. But the second he opened it, something inside her just jolted, and she shot to her feet. "Wait, Alex." She literally stepped over Scarlet and made her way towards him. She stared up at him for several long seconds, and as unsure as she felt about asking him the question on the tip of her tongue, she started in anyway. "Do you think maybe . . ." That was all she got out, though, before she became tongue-tied.

"Maybe what?" he prompted.

"Well, maybe we . . ." She thought about Max, pictured him in her mind, and that familiar feeling of longing swirled in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't a good feeling, because it was never . . . satiated.

Alex stared at her curiously, expectantly, almost as if he were about to laugh.

"We—we should go out sometime," she stuttered, feeling like that same nerd from high school who hadn't even known how to talk to a boy.

"Ah, you know me, Liz. I'm more of a low-key guy," he said. "You and Maria should do something."

"No, I mean, we should go . . . _out_ ," she clarified, her insides twisting as she hesitantly added, "like on a date."

Alex's eyebrows shot upward in shock. "What?"

 _Oh god, oh god,_ she thought, panicked. _What am I doing?_ "Yeah, why not, right?" She tried to smile casually, encouragingly, but it felt forced. "It'd be fun. We obviously know each other so well and get along. We could just . . ." She trailed off, wishing she hadn't suggested this. Her emotions were too up in the air right now.

"Yeah, I, uh . . . I don't know." He laughed nervously.

"Right." This was so awkward. So, _so_ awkward. "Oh god, um . . ." She hid her face behind her hands for a few seconds, shaking her head. "You know what? Just forget I even said anything. This was stupid."

"No, it's not that I'm . . ." He was having just as hard of a time forming sentences as she was. "I mean, I think you're attractive."

She cringed, even though it was a compliment. "This is just too weird." They'd been friends for so long now. There was nothing to gain by jeopardizing that. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"I should just go," he said quickly. "I'll see you."

"Bye." She waved lamely, and he practically shot out the door. Shoulders slumping, she closed it and leaned back against it, sinking to the floor. She knew she shouldn't have done that, and she regretted it already.

...

"Oh my god, it was so embarrassing, Maria," Liz groaned, raking her fingers through her hair. "Crash and burn."

Maria set a heavily cream cheesed bagel down in front of her and sat down beside her. "I'm really surprised you made your move. What happened to, 'No, I don't feel that way about him'?"

"Well, I don't," Liz confessed. "Not yet."

"Then why'd you ask him out?"

"Because . . ." _Because I can't ask_ your _boyfriend out,_ she thought bitterly. Alex was the only other guy she felt at all close to. "I started thinking about it, and I realized we _do_ have a really good friendship, so maybe we _do_ owe it to ourselves to explore it and find out if there's anything else there."

"Hmm. Well, you know where I stand: I think you guys would be adorable together."

Liz couldn't help but wonder . . . did she only think that because she was the one with Max? Was there perhaps some part of her that wanted Alex to be a viable romantic option just so there was no competition for Max? No, probably not. Maria probably didn't think of her as competition at all, because there was no competition. Max had made it pretty clear which girl he had decided to be most devoted to.

"I'm just worried I ruined our whole friendship now," Liz lamented. "It's gonna be so awkward."

"It'll be fine," Maria assured her.

She shook her head doubtfully. "I don't know. It was bad, Maria, really bad. He just _took off_. Like he couldn't get out of there fast enough."

Maria smiled, and then she let out a few laughs. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I know it's not funny."

"No, please, let's laugh about it, because if we don't laugh, I'm gonna cry."

"Oh, don't worry. It's not that bad."

Liz sighed heavily, thinking through her limited options. "Maybe I should just give up on dating altogether," she pondered.

"Or at least give up on dating guys." Maria smirked.

"Hey, there we go. Lesbo Liz. That's the solution," she joked. "Oh, that'd be so much easier."

Maria shrugged. "I don't know. I think love's complicated no matter what."

"Yeah," Liz agreed, but that was part of the problem, part of a problem both her best friends were completely unaware of. When she thought of what was _complicated_ for her . . . Max was the only person who came to mind.

...

Michael was disappointed to be sitting by himself on Thursday as the second open mic day was about to start, but he was relieved when Maria finally showed up. She came in the door right as the professor was saying, "Alright, let's go ahead and get started then," and she made it to her seat just as the first performer was stepping up front.

"Cuttin' it kinda close today, aren't you?" he remarked, glad to have her there. Jake still wasn't feeling well, so it was another day for just the two of them.

"Liz stopped by this morning," she told him quietly. "We lost track of time talking."

"About what?" Selfishly, he would have loved it if they'd been talking about him.

"Girl stuff," she replied.

He made a face. "That just makes me think of, like, makeup and tampons."

"Yeah, that's what we talked about for half an hour. Tampons."

"Seriously?"

"No." She laughed a little and shook her head, apparently amused by him.

They fell quiet as the girl up front started to sing. She had a very seventies, hippie vibe to her. She had long blonde hair like a hippie, wore loose-flowing clothes, accompanied her own singing with a ukulele. Michael didn't recognize the song, and he didn't really care for it. She didn't have his attention, because Maria did. He watched her watch the singer, and when she commented, "She's good," he felt compelled to assure her, "You're better."

After class was over, even though he had some things to pick up at the Student Union, Michael walked with Maria in the opposite direction instead. They talked the whole way, mostly about pointless things, and when she got to her car, she looked reluctant to stop there. But she did. "Well . . ." she said, "here we are."

He took a few more steps, teasingly asking, "What're you doin'?"

She shrugged. "Going home."

 _No,_ he thought. _Don't do that._ "Come with me."

She gave him a confused look.

Motioning with his head to the Vidorra complex, he urged, "Come on." And that was all it took for her to follow him.

When he opened the door to his apartment, his dog practically mauled him. "Hey, Shango," he said, bending down to pet him in the doorway. "Hey." He went inside, and Shango scampered after him, but then, as if on second thought, he doubled back and started sniffing at Maria's feet and legs instead.

"God," Maria said, shutting the door, "how much are you feeding him?"

"A lot," Michael acknowledged. "He's a growing boy."

"Definitely growing," Maria agreed.

"He's healthy." Michael tossed his backpack on the couch and bent down so his dog could run into his arms. "Isn't that right, Shango Jango?"

Shango pawed and licked at him wildly. Like most dogs, he was just happy to see his master come home. It was like the best, most exciting part of his day.

"I can't believe Brody lets you have a dog," Maria remarked. "You've got it made here."

"Vidorra," he said, standing up. "The good life." He was well aware how lucky he had it, and how he should be careful not to screw it up. But even so . . .

He eyed her up and down, appreciating the way her jeans fit. It made his own feel . . . a little bit tighter.

"So why am I here?" she asked, setting her purse down on the floor.

 _Because I want you to be here,_ he thought. _I want you._ It was an unnerving thought, but he kept trying to act . . . normal. As normal as any of their interactions could be. "I got something for you," he told her. He walked around the dividing wall that separated his bed from the rest of the apartment and opened up his nightstand drawer. Pushed all the way to the back was a long, rectangular box he'd stashed there two nights ago, hoping Sarah wouldn't find it.

Maria stepped up behind him, obviously curious. "What do you mean you have something?" she asked.

He closed the drawer and stood up, holding out the box. "Happy birthday."

Her mouth dropped open into an appreciative smile, and her eyes glimmered as she looked at the box presented to her. "I didn't think you'd remember," she said, taking it from him.

"Of course I remember." Her birthday was a hard day for him to even _imagine_ forgetting. "This is the day we had our first kiss."

That happy look on her face shifted immediately into a nostalgic one, and he knew that, for at least a second or two, she was right back where he was in the Crashdown café. Just the two of them, his mouth on hers. Even though it shouldn't have been.

"Open it," he urged her.

"Michael, you didn't have to get me anything." She seemed like she might give it right back to him at first, but then she lifted the lid of the box to reveal the necklace inside. It was a sterling silver chain with a music symbol on it, the treble clef sign. He'd ordered it online for her a few weeks back.

"Oh, wow, it's so pretty," she said, lifting it up to get a closer look. When her eyes came up to meet his, he saw tears there, happy and grateful ones. "I love it," she told him, her voice a whisper. "Thank you."

It wasn't the most expensive necklace of all time, but he just knew it was her. It was the kind of thing she'd wear all the time. And maybe whenever she looked down at it or noticed it dangling against her chest, she'd feel inspired to sing or something.

"Put it on," he said. "Here." He took the box from her and carefully lifted the necklace out of it.

"Oh. Okay. Um . . ." Hesitating for just a moment, she turned around and lifted her hair up off the back of her neck.

He moved in close behind her, unhooked the chain, and put it around her neck. Even though it was an easy hook, even for his big hands, he pretended to fumble around with it for a moment, just so it took a little longer. Eventually, he hooked it back together, though, and took the smallest of steps back. "There." His job was done.

Slowly, she turned back around, tilting her head down to get a view of it. "How's it look?" she asked him.

 _Beautiful,_ he wanted to say. _Stunning. Breathtaking._ Something cheesy or along those lines. But that was too much, so he had to tone it down. "It looks nice," he said. But that just wasn't enough.

Apparently it was enough for her, though, because she smiled up at him again, and though it was just a soft, small smile, it shone brighter than that necklace did.

 _Fuck,_ he thought. _I'm in deep shit._

...

That night, Max surprised Maria by taking her out to dinner. She'd totally just expected a quiet night in, but he'd come home early from work and told her to get dressed up, because Liz had agreed to watch Dylan for the night while they went out.

They went to YellowBrix and immediately regretted not booking a reservation, because it was unusually crowded. They had to wait . . . and wait. And wait some more. Finally, Max got up to ask the guy behind the front podium what the hold up was. When he returned, he told Maria, "About ten more minutes."

She nodded, her stomach growling with anticipation. "We should have made a reservation."

"Yeah," he agreed, sitting down beside her again. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay." She didn't mean to make him feel bad about that. Just getting to go out on a date at all was nice.

"Oh, well," he said. "I don't mind waiting."

"The wait will be worth it," she agreed. This place had really good food.

"That's right." He lifted her hand up off her lap and squeezed it gently. He looked like he was about to say something more when loud voices rose up from inside. Seconds later, two semi-familiar figures came stumbling out, assisted by the restaurant staff. Maria recognized Isabel's friends, Courtney and . . . whatever that guy's name was. The one who helped make the pornos.

"I don't even get why they're kicking us out," Courtney was complaining, her words all blending together. "We're not even that drunk."

The porno guy held his hand to his stomach and pushed past her, groaning, "I feel like I'm gonna puke." He ran out onto the street, hunched over, and let it all out.

Maria made a face and turned away, because that was totally _not_ what she wanted to see right before eating her own meal. "Classy," she commented sarcastically.

"Do you think that's what we acted like when we used to get high all the time?" Max asked her.

She frowned, mumbling, "I don't like to think about that." And she knew he didn't, either. But yes, they'd probably made fools of themselves on more than one occasion and repulsed everyone around them the same way that Courtney and her boyfriend were repulsing them.

The ten minute wait turned out to be a five minute one, and once they were seated, _then_ it was a ten minute wait for anyone to even approach their table and take their drinks order. The food took about forty-five minutes to come, but when it finally did, it was good. Max had some kind of chicken dish, and Maria had opted for lasagna.

"Is that good?" Max asked her as they ate.

"Yeah, it's really good." There was a lot of it, though, so she was probably going to have to take some home in a box. Leftovers were always a blessing in her kitchen. "Do you think they'd give us more rolls?"

"Probably." Max looked around for their waiter, but he was nowhere to be seen. "I'll ask him when he comes by again," he said. "But in the meantime, I think I should give you your present." He took his jacket off the back of his chair and reached into the inside pocket. "Here you go," he said, sliding an envelope across the table. It was the size of a regular card, but it bulged a little bit in the middle, so she could tell that there was some kind of gift in there.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Well, you should open it and find out," he suggested.

"Okay." She wiped her hands on her napkin and picked up the card, using her fingernail to slice open the envelope. When she opened up the card, a necklace dropped out onto her hand.

"I hope you don't mind more jewelry," he said. "At least I didn't steal this from you."

She normally would have taken a moment to read the card, because it looked like one of those super romantic ones, and he'd written a note for her instead of just signing his and Dylan's names. But the necklace was _so_ shiny and _so_ sparkly that she couldn't help but focus on it. "Max, this looks really expensive," she remarked, moving it around in her hand. It was an oval-shaped diamond about the size of a deformed quarter, and it was surrounded by smaller diamonds.

"I splurged a little," he admitted. "You're worth it."

 _Pretty sure I'm not,_ she thought. Hopefully he hadn't spent too much money. "It's beautiful," she said. "Thank you."

"Do you love it?"

"Of course." It was a gorgeous necklace. Any girl would love it and probably want to wear it all the time.

"I think it'd look great with the dress you have on," he hinted.

Automatically, her hand went up to touch the necklace she was already wearing. The one Michael had given her earlier that day. The treble clef. "You're right," she said. "It would." She actually loved the necklace she had on, because even though it didn't have diamonds and surely hadn't cost as much as this one . . . it was just as beautiful.

It actually sort of hurt to take it off, but she did, and she put Max's gift on instead. It felt much heavier, but he was right. It _did_ look nice. "There we go," she said.

"That looks great," he said. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks." She didn't know what she'd done to deserve either one of these presents.

He spun to the side when their waiter reappeared, and his arm shot up to get his attention. "Oh, excuse me," he called. "Waiter?"

Maria stared down at the treble clef necklace sadly, because as nice as this new necklace was . . . it wasn't the one she wanted to wear.

...

The end of the week meant parent/teacher conferences for the students of Pound. For some of the rowdier second and third graders, it was a day to dread, but for most of the kids, especially the younger ones, it was nothing they needed to worry about. They didn't even know what was going on.

Vanessa suggested to Michael that he be at the school to meet with Jake's parents and discuss the progress he was or wasn't seeing. They sat in one of the conference rooms with Vanessa herself, and with the other classroom aides who had been trying to give Jake his much-needed assistance throughout the day. Jake himself wasn't there, of course, because he was still sick. But his parents actually seemed encouraged that he kept trying to walk out the front door of their house every single day. They took that as a sign that he wanted to go to school or, at the very least, knew that he was supposed to be there.

As they were leaving, Jake's mother pulled Michael aside and thanked him for bringing him to Music Appreciation the other day. He assured her that it was no big deal, and then she hugged him and thanked him for all that he was doing for her son. Jake's father gave him a handshake and reminded him just to call if there were ever any issues that got out of his control.

And with that, his job at conferences was done. Vanessa headed back out to the commons to mingle with the rest of the students, and the rest of the aides had other students they needed to visit with parents about. But since Jake was Michael's only case, he could leave.

He was on his way out when he heard the familiar sound of Dylan's laugh. His eyes shot to the far side of the commons and saw that Dylan was indeed there, sitting across from his kindergarten teacher with Maria on one side of him and Max on the other. His teacher was smiling at him and saying something that he apparently thought was hilarious, because he couldn't stop laughing. Max and Maria were laughing, too.

Michael stood back and watched, wondering what was being said. All good things, probably. Dylan was a good student. Outgoing, eager, smart, and hard-working. Every teacher's dream student. For now, at least. Hopefully that wouldn't change.

If things had gone differently . . . he knew he could have been sitting at that table. He knew he could have been the father who was oh so proud of his son. He would have been, if they'd have made it to Alabama. He would have adopted that little boy, and he would have married that little boy's mom. And they would have been _his_ family, not Max's.

His gaze drifted from Dylan to Maria, and he felt . . . fixated. On the smallest things. Like the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, or the way her nose wrinkled up when she smiled at Dylan and laughed some more. As stupid as it was, he was hoping to see her wearing the necklace he'd given her yesterday, but she wasn't. In fact, she wasn't wearing any necklace at all.

She wasn't wearing a ring, either, which was a relief. Because with it having been her birthday yesterday, he'd just been _slightly_ concerned that Max might pop the question. And it scared him that she might have said yes.

He wanted her to look over and see him, but she didn't. No, she was too busy paying attention to exactly what she was supposed to pay attention to, her son's conference. So there was really no reason for him to linger there anymore.

Lowering his head, he left the family to their conference and slipped away, unnoticed.

...

Michael felt like a mess when he got home that evening. Sarah was at work, so there was no one to pull him out of his funk. Seeing Maria, Max, and Dylan together like that had really rattled something inside of him. It was a rare thing for him to see all three of them together, and he didn't like it. It just felt . . . wrong. Like it wasn't supposed to end up that way.

He headed straight to the top drawer of his dresser when he walked in the door and dug around for the particular roll of socks where he'd stashed that engagement ring. Even though he knew it was a bad idea to do so, he took it out and stared at it for what seemed like a long time. In fact, he lost track of time. Five minutes? Ten minutes? He had no idea how much time passed, because he couldn't even think about it. All he could think about when he had that ring in his hand was the girl who had once worn it.

" _Maria DeLuca is the love of my life."_

He heard himself saying those words over and over again, and it was like they were just getting louder and louder all the time, demanding to be heard.

The small diamond sparkled as he twirled it around between his fingers. It hadn't dulled one bit since the night he'd given it to her. Surely if she put it on, it would look exactly the same. It would fit just as perfectly. Like it had been there all along.

" _Maria DeLuca is the love of my life."_

He knew he should put it away, or better yet, throw it out a window. Let it land outside in the parking lot and get run over by someone's car. But then again . . . he was pretty sure he'd let himself get _hit_ by a car just to prevent that from happening. Just like he'd gotten hit by a car because he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her the first time he saw her on campus.

" _Maria DeLuca is the love of my life."_

This wasn't normal. He wasn't supposed to feel this way.

It couldn't have been worse timing for the door to open up and for Sarah to come inside, but she did. Dumbfounded, Michael dropped the ring like an idiot and quickly bent down to pick it up, but it was too late to shove it into that sock again and put it back into hiding. She noticed it.

"Hey," she said, eyeing him curiously. It was almost as if she were trying to look just at his face, but her eyes kept dropping down to his hand instead. She even squinted as if she wanted to make sure she was seeing it right.

"You're home early," he said, closing his fist around the ring. Maybe, if he was lucky, she wouldn't ask about it.

"Not really," she said.

He glanced over to the bedside clock. It was just a little after 8:00, right when she'd been set to return home. A lot more time had passed than he'd even realized. He must have stared at that ring for twenty fucking minutes. Pathetic.

She toed off her shoes and shuffled towards him, her scrubs dragging on the floor. "What is that?" she asked him.

"What?" he played dumb.

"In your hand."

 _Shit._ He really should have tossed it out a window.

"It's, uh . . ." How was he supposed to explain this? She'd been pretty damn understanding about a lot of things this semester, like him being in class with Maria, and working with her, and coaching Dylan's football team. Hell, she'd even been _supportive_ of it. But how could any girl understand or support him standing there with an old engagement ring, all lost in thought and wrapped up in fantasy?

Slowly, he unfolded his hand, letting her see for herself the small diamond that lay in his palm.

She gasped, holding one hand to her chest. She didn't say anything, though, as if she were trying not to assume that it was _that_ kind of ring. But it _was_ that ring. It just wasn't hers.

 _Oh god._ This was bad. This was worse than bad. He didn't know what to do. Part of him thought it was best to just come clean, let her in on everything that had been on his mind lately, tell her about all the feelings inside that were making him question _everything_ he'd experienced with her for the past two and a half years. But that would break her heart. And he didn't want to do that.

"What is that, Michael?" she finally asked, her voice softer than it usually was, her expression more uncertain.

 _Don't lie to her,_ his mind screamed. _She deserves better than that._

But even so . . . his words betrayed him.

"It's for you," he blurted out, and he immediately hated himself for it.

"For me?" she squeaked.

 _No. No, don't do this._ "Yeah."

She gazed up at him with such hopefulness in her eyes, smiling. "Michael . . ."

It felt like his heart was getting squeezed when she said his name like that.

"Is that what I think it is?"

It was exactly what she thought it was. "Yeah." And at the same time . . . it was nothing like that.

"Oh my god," she breathed out in amazement. "Are you . . ." She trailed off, as though she were too shocked to even form words.

 _What am I doing?_ he wondered, panicked as he held the ring between this thumb and index finger. This was so wrong on so many levels. But he couldn't stop.

Before he knew it, he was lowering his right knee to the floor, still holding the ring in his hand.

"Oh . . . my god," she said again, her eyes widening in anticipation.

 _You can't do this,_ he told himself. But even knowing that . . . he just kept going. "Sarah Vivian Nguyen . . ."

"I'm in scrubs," she cut in suddenly. "You're proposing, and I'm in scrubs."

"You look good in scrubs," he assured her.

"Thanks."

Normally, he would have cracked a smile and laughed a little, but not this time. Not right now. He couldn't. "Sarah Nguyen," he repeated, his heart banging against his chest. He had nothing planned out to say, and it was too late to back out now, so he just went ahead and asked the obvious question. "Will you marry me?"

Immediately, tears shot to her eyes, and this huge smile came onto her face. Tearfully, she nodded and gave him his answer. "Yes."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, I'll marry you." She held out her hand, fingers shaking, and cried as he slid the ring onto her finger. It was a little too tight. One size too small, perhaps.

"Sorry," he apologized. "It's not-"

"No, I love it," she said, applying a little pressure to get it to slide on the rest of the way. "I love you." She got down onto the floor with him and kissed him excitedly, throwing her arms around him. "Oh my god," she gasped, hugging him tightly. Her whole body was shaking with emotion. Happiness mixed with surprise. "I love you, Michael," she said. "I love you so much."

He rubbed her back and held her in close, echoing the sentiment. "I love you, too." And he really did. That wasn't in question.

"I can't believe you did this," she exclaimed, pulling back to smile at him. "We're gonna get married!"

 _Married._ His mind wrestled around with the word. _Married._

She squealed with excitement and kissed him again. He'd never seen her so happy as she was right now. When she hugged him again and buried her face against the side of neck, he wished he could match that level of happiness. But he just couldn't. As he sat there on the floor with her, holding her, he just felt . . . stunned.

 _What did I just do?_


	52. Chapter 52

Sarah could barely wait to tell Tess about the engagement. All morning long, she'd been bursting with excitement. Last night, she would have called her and told her, or sent her a picture of the beautiful ring, but she and Michael had been . . . busy. All-night lovemaking session. She couldn't complain.

"Hey, best friend!" Sarah chirped as Tess opened the door.

"Hey," Tess greeted, sounding decidedly less chipper. She was wearing a big t-shirt that looked like one of Kyle's, and sweatpants. Tess never wore sweatpants, but her regular pants were probably too tight at this point. "What're you doing here?" she asked groggily.

"Oh, you know . . ." Sarah twirled her hair around her left index finger, hoping that Tess would notice the ring just two fingers down. It wasn't as big as the one she'd gotten from Kyle, but Sarah thought it was just perfect. "Just thought I'd stop by and maybe see if you wanna do something today."

"Like what?" Tess asked.

Sarah shrugged. "I don't know. We could go out to eat, or we could go shopping." She used some emphatic hand gestures, still hoping the ring would catch her friend's attention.

"Ugh, the only store I can shop at right now is the maternity store," Tess groaned, "so I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Well, we don't have to go anywhere." Sarah raked her hand through her hair, shocked by Tess's obliviousness. "We could just, you know, hang out and talk. About stuff."

"Like about how bad my back hurts," Tess complained. "Or how swollen my feet are."

"Tess."

"What? They are. They look like two huge beach balls."

"Tess, are you blind or something?"

Tess scrunched up her face in confusion. "What?"

Sarah finally just held up her hand, making it obvious.

Tess's mouth dropped open, and her eyes grew big as saucers. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my _god_!" she exclaimed, bouncing up and down as well as she could. "Sarah! Why didn't you say anything?"

"Hello, I was _so_ obvious!"

"Oh. My. God!" Tess squealed with excitement and grabbed Sarah's hand. "Let me see! Let me see!"

Sarah beamed as she showed off her ring. Wearing it was making her feel like the luckiest woman on earth.

...

Kyle wasn't sure what was going on, but whatever it was sounded extremely high-pitched. He came out of the bathroom and Tess standing in the doorway with Sarah. They were blabbering about something, something he was about to dismiss as some girly thing he wouldn't understand. But as he turned to head back down the hall into the bedroom, something on Sarah's finger caught his eye.

 _Holy shit._ That was definitely a ring. That was definitely an engagement ring.

So Michael had gone and done it. He had to admit . . . he was surprised. Sure, things had seemed to be headed in that direction for quite some time now, but . . . it just seemed sort of out of the blue.

Sarah looked happy, though, that was for sure. And even though Kyle felt happy for her, he also felt like he needed to talk to his best friend.

...

Michael strained as he raised the bench press bar from chest level back into the air. The first couple reps of this hadn't been so bad, but now that he was doing his third set of fifty, he was really feeling it.

He paid little attention as the door to the gym opened, because all he wanted right now was to be left alone. But when he heard Kyle's familiar voice pipe up with a cautionary, "You shouldn't do that without a spotter," he knew alone time wouldn't happen.

"I'm alright," he insisted, bringing the bar back down one more time. It took all his strength to push it back up.

"Seriously, it's dangerous," Kyle kept on.

Michael placed the bar back on the rack and groaned as he sat up. "Made it through." His arms felt like they were about to fall off, though. He'd probably been pushing himself too hard.

"You look tired," Kyle remarked.

"This is tiring stuff." He grabbed his water bottle off the ground and took a much-needed drink. "Are you gonna work out?" he asked.

"Nah," Kyle replied, "I was lookin' for you. Sarah said you'd probably be here."

He put his bottle back down again, mumbling, "Here I am." It hadn't been his intention to spend all morning working out. Hell, barely anyone else was even there today. He just figured it'd be a nice place to clear his head.

"She stopped by this morning," Kyle told him.

Michael nodded, making the obvious deduction about why Kyle was there then. "So you heard?"

"Yeah." Kyle smiled. "Congratulations."

 _I don't deserve a congratulations,_ Michael thought. _I don't deserve anything._ "Thanks."

Kyle sauntered towards the bench press, gripping the bar with both hands as though he longed to be able to pick it up and do some of those torturous reps Michael had just pushed himself through. "I gotta admit, though," he said, "I thought I'd hear about it from you first."

Michael got to his feet, shrugging. "I was gonna tell you later today."

"Hmm." Kyle nodded. "It's big news."

"Yep." He could only imagine how excited Sarah had been to tell Tess.

"I didn't even know you were gonna pop the question," Kyle said.

 _Neither did I,_ he thought remorsefully. "Yeah, it was kind of a spontaneous thing."

"Yeah? So what made you do it?"

That . . . was a question he didn't want to answer, so he purposefully left it vague. "I don't know, I just . . . I just did it." Maybe it wasn't _really_ that big of a deal. Everyone had assumed that he'd propose to Sarah at some point. It seemed logical.

"So you're engaged now," Kyle said. "That's awesome."

"Yeah." It really should have been, but he felt like an ass.

"I'm really happy for you, man," Kyle went on. "Sarah's a great girl. You're lucky to have her."

"I know." Sarah was practically perfect in every way imaginable. How a loser like him had ever found an angel like her was beyond belief. But . . .

Kyle eyed him strangely.

"What?" Michael asked.

"Nothing. You just . . . you don't seem quite as excited about it as she was," Kyle noted.

"Well, she's a girl," Michael pointed out.

"Yeah, but . . . I was grinning from ear to ear when I got engaged to Tess. I couldn't shut up about it."

Michael flapped his arms against his sides, trying to play it off as nothing. "I'm not you, Kyle."

"Yeah, but are you . . . are you at least happy about it?"

He didn't know what he was, but whatever he was feeling . . . happy didn't really seem like the right word for it. "Yeah, of course I'm happy," he lied. "What do you want me to do, go shout it from the rooftops?"

Kyle grinned. "Maybe, if you want to."

He didn't want to. He didn't even want to have this conversation. "I'm happy," he said. "I love the girl. I can't wait to marry her. It's gonna be great." He smiled, but when he turned his back to Kyle and sat down at the triceps machine, he let that smile fall away.

...

Michael felt completely physically spent by the time he got home late that afternoon. Even though he'd left the gym at lunch, he'd ended up going for a run around town instead. So now, in addition to aching limbs, he had burning lungs.

Sarah was lying on her stomach on the bed when he walked in, her feet up by the pillows. She had her phone in front of her, but she pushed it aside when she saw him and smiled at him, a huge, beaming, happy smile.

"Hey, babe," he said, throwing off his jacket.

"Hey. I'm glad you're home," she said, rolling over onto her side. "I was lonely today."

"Sorry." He kicked off his shoes and made up a little white lie about where he'd been. "I got called in to work. It ran late."

"I should've come and visited you then."

He made his way towards the bed and lay down beside her. "Why didn't you?"

"I was on the phone with my mom. We talked for two hours."

"Ah." He pillowed his head with his arms and asked, "You tell her?"

"Yeah."

"And was she cool with it?"

"She cried a lot. Happy tears."

"Oh. Good." Most mothers cried horrified, fearful tears when they thought of him.

"She said she's really happy for us and really excited. My dad will be, too."

"When are you gonna tell him?"

"Well, he's at a work conference this weekend, so it'll have to wait until Monday. But it's gonna be so great. He's gonna love having you as a son-in-law. And Victor . . . oh, Victor is gonna love it. He idolizes you."

"Hmm." He smiled sleepily. "Tina really likes you, too, so she'll be glad about it."

"You haven't told her yet?" She sounded surprised.

"No."

"What about your mom?"

"Not yet." The truth was, he hadn't told them yet, because he didn't want to tell anyone. Not them, not his friends . . . definitely not Maria.

"Oh my god, we should tell your mom together!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Do you want to?"

"What, like right now?" He was so tired. And this was so not something he wanted to do.

"Yeah! Let's call her."

Apparently he didn't really have a choice, though. She was already reaching for her phone.

She put it on speaker, set it down on the bed right in between them, and after a few rings, his mom answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, Krista!" Sarah squealed.

"Well, hey there. How's it going?"

"Oh, it's going pretty well." Sarah scratched her cheek with her left hand, and Michael fixated for a moment on that ring. That ring on her finger. _Shit._

"Say hi to Michael," Sarah said.

"Hi, Mom," he said, sitting up straighter.

"Oh, hi, honey. Am I on the megaphone?"

"Speakerphone, Mom," he corrected.

"Oh, you know what I mean." She laughed a little.

"We wanted to talk to you together," Sarah said. "We have something exciting to tell you."

"Oh my," his mother immediately gasped. She was probably automatically assuming pregnancy.

"Are you ready?" Sarah asked her.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Okay, on the count of three." She looked at Michael expectantly and counted down, "One, two, three! We're . . ." When he didn't say anything with her, she yelped, "Michael!"

"What?"

"You didn't say it."

"What're we saying?" He wasn't a mind-reader.

She mouthed _'We're getting married,'_ and he nodded in understanding. Simple enough.

"One, two . . ." she counted down again, drawing it out dramatically this time. "Three!"

"We're getting married," they said in unison, though he felt like he couldn't quite match the energy level she had.

All he heard on the other end of the call was a loud, high-pitched sound that dragged out for a few seconds. He could imagine his mom falling down on the couch, maybe fanning herself off, taking it all in. "Mom?" he said. "Are you laughing or crying?"

A distinct laugh came over the phone. "Both," she said.

"You okay?"

"Oh, god yes. I'm so happy," she replied. "I'm so happy for the two of you."

"Thank you, Krista," Sarah said. "That means everything." She smiled at Michael and reached over to squeeze his hand. "We're happy, too."

 _Or at least we should be,_ Michael thought. He managed a weak smile in return, but his happiness was tainted. With doubt. And regret.

...

 _Wonder what's on TV tonight,_ Alex thought as he strode down the hallway with trash in hand. _Probably nothing good._ It was Saturday night, and just like last Saturday night, his only companion would be his remote control. Most guys his age were going out, living it up, but that had just never been his style. Still, though . . . he felt lonely. As much as he hated to admit it, he actually missed Leanna.

He opened the trash chute and dropped his bag into it, and as he was shutting it, he heard a few people coming up the stairs. He recognized the voices, or at least one of them, so he just stood there and waited.

Isabel's boyfriend didn't pause as he headed up to the next floor, but Isabel, trailing behind him, did. She spotted Alex and smiled softly. "Hey."

What was she doing here? Did he even want to know? "Hey," he returned, surveying her outfit. Long black coat with probably not a whole lot underneath. She must have been booked by some guy here tonight.

"Isabel, come on!" Jesse called down the stairs.

Reluctantly, she headed up.

 _Dammit,_ he thought, shaking his head in disappointment. He hated that this was her life nowadays, and he hated that he was powerless to stop it.

Making his way back down the hallway, he contemplated what he was going to eat tonight. Something microwavable, probably, because he didn't have much else on hand. He'd just gotten back inside his apartment and started rummaging through the freezer when there was a knock on his door.

 _Isabel?_ he thought hopefully. Maybe she'd had second thoughts about whatever she was doing tonight.

He shut the freezer and flew to the door, opening it eagerly. It was actually kind of a letdown to see Liz standing there instead, just because she definitely _didn't_ need his help.

"Hey, Liz," he greeted.

"Hi." She smiled, looking unsure of herself. "Sorry for just stopping by. It's just that . . . we haven't really talked or hung out since . . ."

"Yeah." Since she'd asked him out on a date. "You know, I've just been really busy."

She tilted her head to the side knowingly. "Really?"

"Yeah, I've . . ." What was the use? She wasn't an idiot. "Okay, not really." Truth was, he'd just been avoiding her because he didn't know what to do or what to say in light of her little . . . invitation. Even now, he felt weird about it.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"Sure." He felt rude for making her stand out there so long anyway. Stepping aside, he allowed her in, hoping his place didn't reek. He'd cleaned, but probably not well. Leanna used to take care of the housework. "So where's Scarlet?" he inquired.

Liz took off her coat and draped it over the back of the couch, replying, "She's staying with Max tonight." Then she stood there for a few seconds, flapped her arms against her sides, and said, "So . . ." leadingly.

 _So . . ._ he thought. This was going well.

Finally, she rolled her eyes and broke the silence. "Okay, look, Alex, I don't want things to be weird."

"They're not," he lied.

"Yes, they are. We've been avoiding each other, and I feel like it's my fault."

"I just . . ." He didn't want her to feel bad for putting herself forward. That wasn't his intention. "I was just a little surprised when you asked me out on a date. I mean, that's a little different than asking me to tag along for Christmas. I was . . . taken aback." There, that was the right way to phrase it.

"Yeah. I get that," she said. "I know it came out of nowhere. We can just forget it ever happened, don't you think?"

"Yeah, sure." Something like this would never affect or alter how much he cared about her and Scarlet.

She breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Good."

 _Yeah,_ he thought. _Good._ But there was still something nagging at him, and it started to nag a lot harder when he heard music start to play in the apartment above his, followed by the distinct sound of men hooting and hollering, as if they were being thoroughly entertained. "Or . . ."

She gave him a questioning look. "Or what, Alex?"

"Well . . . maybe you had a point." He could sit here night after night all alone, missing Leanna, wondering what Isabel was up to, or he could actually move his life forward, take a chance. "We _do_ know each other so well," he acknowledged. "We care about each other. We used to date." He shrugged, trying to act as casual as possible. "Maybe it wouldn't be such a stretch to do that again."

She grunted in disbelief. "Wait a minute. Are you saying you _want_ to go out on a date with me?"

"Yeah." He felt like, at this point, they both owed it to themselves to see if anything romantic was there. Worst case scenario, they realized they were better off as friends and just went back to being that. "What do you say?"

Even though _she'd_ originally been the one to ask _him_ , suddenly she looked like she didn't know what to say.

...

Maria yawned. Sunday. It was supposed to be a day of rest and relaxation, but today was jam-packed for her. She'd spent all morning cleaning the house, and her afternoon was blocked off for work. The evening would go all too fast, of course, just like Sunday evenings always did.

She sat at the front desk of Vidorra, trying to keep herself awake when she got a text from Liz. _Did you see Sarah's Instagram?_ it read.

Maria quickly texted back _No_ and sent the message. Then, curiously, she sent another text. _Why?_

"Maria."

She quickly put her phone away, as if she were a little kid in school who had gotten caught with it out. The guy she was working with today, Spencer or whatever, was a real pain in the ass. He treated this job like it was life or death instead of making it fun like Michael did.

"Did you give out the clubs?" he asked her.

"The golf clubs?"

"Yeah, for the putting green."

"Uh-huh." It was nice out today, so the residents were definitely taking advantage of being able to be outdoors. The had a lot of athletic equipment that they could loan out to them.

"Did you document it?" Spencer asked her.

"Oh. Um . . ." She bit her bottom lip nervously, knowing she'd messed up. "It was that guy. That blonde guy. You know the one. Looks like a Ken doll."

"I don't know that guy. That doesn't tell me anything," Spencer growled angrily. "When did you give them out?"

She checked the time on her phone, vaguely responding, "A while ago."

"Great. That's just great," Spencer mumbled sarcastically.

"Well, he'll bring 'em back, though, right?"

"I don't know, Maria. You just gave him two-hundred dollars in golf clubs."

"For a putting green?" She found that hard to believe.

"They were brand new. Would you bring those back?"

"Yes." But that didn't mean everyone else would.

"This is serious, you know," Spencer warned. "If he doesn't bring 'em back, it'll come out of your paycheck. And I'm not gonna take any of the blame for this."

Her stomach started to twist up nervously. Her phone buzzed with another message from Liz, but she ignored it. "So what do I do?" she asked, determined to make this right.

"Go ask Brody."

"But what if he fires me?" She'd been fired before. _Really_ didn't want to do that again. "I'll go ask someone else," she decided, getting out of her chair. Michael would know what to do.

The elevator was taking too long, so she took the stairs up to the third floor and walked down the long hallway. Before knocking on the door to his apartment, she took a moment to straighten out her hair and her clothing. But that was just stupid because . . . it didn't matter what she looked like.

She knocked, hoping he was there. Actually, she was hoping that he'd come downstairs with a solution in mind and tell Spencer to stop being such a know-it-all ass. His attitude wasn't helping anything.

It was Sarah who opened the door, though, instead of Michael. She smiled at Maria and exclaimed, "Hey!"

"Oh, hey, Sarah." Now this just felt weird. She didn't want Michael's girlfriend thinking it was normal for her to just drop by like this.

"How's it going?" Sarah asked.

"Fine. I just . . . I had a work question," she explained. "For Michael."

"Oh, he's in the shower," Sarah informed her. "He'll be out soon."

Immediately, she started to _picture_ Michael in the shower, and that was not helpful. "I can just handle it myself then," she said.

"No, it's fine. Come on in," Sarah insisted, stepping aside.

 _Oh god,_ Maria thought, hesitantly stepping inside. _Why the shower?_ Michael had always looked sexiest to her with water all over his skin. His shoulders. His abs. _Good lord._ She couldn't think about that. But it was hard not to when she could hear the water running from the bathroom.

Sarah made her way back over to the couch and muted the TV. She seemed embarrassed to be watching _Project Runway._ "Guilty pleasure," she said.

"We all have those." Maria shut the door as Shango pranced up to her, pawing at her feet to get attention. "Hey, Shango," she said, bending down to pet him. He sniffed at her hands, then nuzzled his head against her legs.

"He really likes you," Sarah remarked.

"I must be nurturing or something," Maria figured.

"Yeah, they can sense that."

Maria bent down, content to occupy herself with petting the dog while she waited for Michael. She never would have pictured Michael owning a Corgi, but now that he did, it just seemed right. A bigger, tougher dog just wasn't for him. Deep down inside, Michael was a softie. Shango was the perfect match for him.

She hadn't even noticed that the water had stopped running when all of a sudden Michael came out of the bathroom with only a white towel tied loosely around his waist. "Oh. Shit," he said when he noticed her, and immediately he ducked back inside.

"I probably should've warned him," Sarah said before calling out, "Babe, do you need clothes?"

"I got it," he called back. Seconds later, he re-emerged, and this time he was wearing loose grey sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt. His towel was around his shoulders now, his hands holding on to either side of it. "Maria," he said, approaching. "What're you—what're you doin' here?"

"I just, uh . . ." That t-shirt really showed off every muscle. It was hard not to stare. "I just had a question, but I should've just called you. Sorry." What had she been thinking just showing up like this? They could have been in the middle of . . . something.

"Actually . . ." Sarah looked up at Michael, then back at Maria, smiling. "I think it's pretty great that you stopped by, because Michael and I . . ." She took a deep breath. ". . . have some news."

Her stomach clenched, and she echoed, "News?" fearfully, automatically assuming pregnancy. _No,_ her mind begged. _No._

Michael leaned back against the counter, looking almost as fearful as Maria felt. And he didn't say anything or even smile while Sarah grinned from ear to ear and held up her left hand. "We're engaged!"

Maria felt like everything inside her just . . . dropped. Hard. Her eyebrows shot up, and she sharply inhaled in what felt like horror, but she tried to disguise it as surprise instead. "Wow," she said, unable to mistake that ring. It was . . . well, it wasn't just any ring, that was for sure. "Engaged. That's . . ." _Not fair,_ she thought, fighting to keep the tears out of her eyes. That was supposed to have been _her_ ring. He'd put it on _her_ finger, not Sarah's. "That _is_ news." She managed a shaky smile, but it felt like the kind that could shatter in seconds.

"He asked Friday night," Sarah revealed. "Totally surprised me." She looked down at the ring adoringly, and Maria knew she had no clue that she was the second girl to receive it.

"Wow." Maria wished she could say something else, do more to cover up her shock and grief in that moment, but that was the only word she could manage. She looked at Michael with wide eyes, sure that the devastation was written all over her face. "Wow."

His eyes locked with hers, and she saw the silent shame there. How Sarah didn't see it was a mystery. Maybe she was just too blinded by the beauty of that ring, or at least the thrill of wearing it.

 _Oh my god,_ Maria thought, mortified. Her insides felt like they were quaking. _Oh my_ god _._ How could this be happening? How could Michael be engaged to someone else?

This _couldn't_ be happening.

But it was, and Sarah was clearly ecstatic about it.

"Congratulations," Maria told her quickly, tearing her eyes away from Michael's the second Sarah glanced up from that ring. She put on a brave front and tried to smile again, but it literally hurt.

"Thank you, Maria," Sarah said. "That really means a lot. I'm so glad we've gotten to know each other this year."

It came as no surprise to Maria that Sarah hugged her, because that was what Sarah did. She hugged her and invited her to everything and wore her engagement ring. Maria hugged her back halfheartedly and made no attempt to conceal her agony as she looked at Michael over his girlfriend's—no, _fiancee's_ —shoulder. She felt . . . blindsided, and she couldn't remember the last time something had hurt this bad. He looked like the whole thing was eating away at him, too, but he didn't apologize. He couldn't.

Sarah, however, did. "I'm sorry," she said, taking a few steps back, "I'm just bursting with excitement. It's like I have to tell everyone I've ever met, and then I have to tell 'em all again."

"Yeah, it's . . ." Maria swallowed hard. "It's a really big deal." She tried to keep that smile in place, though she knew it wouldn't stay for much longer. And the tears, once they started spilling over . . . they probably wouldn't stop.

She made the mistake of looking down at Sarah's left ring finger and catching sight of that diamond again, and it almost killed her. "Um, I really need to go now," she blurted.

"Are you sure? I was just gonna cook up some lunch," Sarah said.

 _Of course you were,_ Maria thought unhappily. "Yeah, I have to go," she repeated.

Finally, at long last, Michael spoke up. "What was your question?" he asked her.

She honestly didn't even remember now, or care. "Actually, it really wasn't even a big deal," she said, "and I think I've got it all figured out now." She stared at him for a few seconds, hoping he could sense that she wasn't just sad, but she was angry, too.

 _Oh god,_ she thought, feeling like she couldn't breathe. _I have to get out of here._

"Bye," she said, quickly reaching for the door.

"Bye," Sarah said as she slipped out.

She shut the door gratefully, hoping that the hallway would help. But it didn't. It felt just as suffocating out there as it had inside. In fact, it felt even worse, because she didn't have to hold it together anymore. She could let the tears fall, and fall they did. She held one hand to her stomach and clasped the other over her mouth to try to stifle her sobs, and at first, she was able to cry silently; but as she started to walk down the hallway, she couldn't hold the sounds of her distress in. She sobbed. And then she had to run, because it hurt so much, she thought she might scream.


	53. Chapter 53

The shower. Every girl's favorite place to cry.

Maria kept to herself for much of the night, which was easy enough to do, because Max and Dylan were slaves to the Xbox again. She tried not to say much, because she was worried that if she said anything, they'd sense how upset she was. Or at least Max would. Dylan was too little to sense that kind of thing.

By the time she was able to get in the shower and let it all out, she felt . . . even worse than she had earlier, if that was possible. Now that she'd had some time to think about it, it was really sinking in. Michael was going to _marry_ Sarah. He would be her husband, and she would be his wife. They would start a family together someday, and their kids would be smart and beautiful.

Just thinking about it made her cry even harder. Even though she'd known this was coming, she hadn't expected it to be so soon, and she hadn't expected it to hurt so much. Maybe it wouldn't have, if he'd just used a different ring. Why couldn't he have at least done that?

As pathetic as it was, she couldn't remember the last time she'd cried this hard. Maybe her first night away from Roswell, when all she'd been able to do was lie awake in bed, picturing how devastated Michael had looked when she'd driven away from him.

Now she wondered if that was how devastated _she_ had looked today.

"Oh god," she cried, pressing both hands against the shower wall as the water poured down on her. This wasn't right. She knew this shouldn't have felt so excruciating. She should have been able to put aside her annoyance that he'd used the same ring and managed to be happy for him. Because this was what she'd wanted, right? This was why she'd broken up with him, so he could go out there in the world and find a relationship like this with a girl who wouldn't be a burden.

But it hurt _so_ much. And she _couldn't_ stop crying, even though she wanted to.

The tears kept falling, but she managed to silence herself when she heard the bathroom door open. "Maria?" Max said.

 _Oh god,_ she thought, panicked. No, she couldn't even look at him right now.

"Room for me in there?" he asked, probably already taking off his clothes.

"Um . . . actually, I'm just finishing up," she said, her voice wavering. "And then I'm gonna go straight to bed."

After a moment's pause, he said, "Oh," and then, "Okay." He sounded disappointed, but he'd probably tell her he wasn't. "I'll just wait my turn then."

She winced, regretting that she couldn't just be honest with him about what she feeling right now. And why she was feeling it. "Sorry," she apologized.

"No, it's fine." He opened the door and left the bathroom, shutting it firmly behind him.

Maria's body jerked forward as another sob tore through her, as tears mixed with water on her cheeks. All this sadness inside was something she had to get out now, because when she stepped out of that shower, she had to bury it again.

...

Tess was singing when Michael stopped by the next day, and it was awful. He could hear how off-key she was even before he walked in the door.

"Baby, baby, baby, ooh!" she sang. "Like baby, baby, baby, nooo!" She was using a spatula as a microphone, dancing around and performing for no one while she washed the dishes.

"Really Tess?" he interrupted. "Bieber?"

She set the spatula back down in the water and held one hand to her stomach. "I'm singing to the twins."

 _Twins._ That was still unreal to him. "Yeah, I'm sure they love that."

"It soothes them," she insisted.

"Are you sure?"

She picked up a wet washcloth and flicked it at him. "Shut up, Michael."

He chuckled.

Kyle came out of the bedroom a moment later, looking like his vintage self. Work-out clothes and a Patriots hat.

"Hey," Michael said, "ready to go?"

"Yep. Are we walking?" Kyle asked.

"I can drive."

Kyle shrugged. "I'd rather walk."

 _Good,_ Michael thought. Kyle had done enough walking these past few months that it was pretty much back to normal for him now. Once in a while, his back spasmed and he had to sit down, but other than that . . . normal. Next came running, but that was going to be more of a gradual process.

"Alright, let's go," Michael said.

"Bye, honey." Kyle stopped and gave Tess a kiss on the cheek first.

"Bye." She smiled, and Michael thought she looked . . . genuinely happy. It was nice to see.

He was just about to follow Kyle out when Tess called him back. "Hey, Michael, wait."

He took a few steps backward, veering into the kitchen. "Yes?"

"So . . ." She dried her hands off on a dishtowel and asked, "How's it feel to be engaged?"

 _Oh, no,_ he thought. He didn't want to talk about this. "Feels good," he replied.

"Good. Just don't be engaged for as long as Kyle and I have been. You guys should get married sooner rather than later. Like maybe this summer."

"Well . . ." That just seemed _very_ soon. "We'll see."

Tess smiled and continued to babble on, "Sarah seems so happy. She loves the ring."

"Does she?" Now that was something he _really_ didn't want to talk about.

"Oh, yeah. You did a good job. It's really pretty. Although . . ." She trailed off, sounding . . . almost skeptical or something. "I have to ask."

"What?" His heart started to beat faster out of nervousness. He knew girls paid attention to this kind of thing, but she wouldn't possibly remember, would she?

"Well, it's just that it looks _so_ familiar," she said, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. "Like I remember seeing that same ring three years ago. On Maria's finger."

 _Oh, shit._ He should have known this was coming. Of course Kyle wouldn't recognize it, but Tess would. "She lost that ring," he reminded her.

"Down the sink, right? I remember."

"Yeah, so . . ." He felt absolutely no need to tell her the truth about where it had been or how it had found its way back, so he just kept up the lie. "It's not the same, but it _is_ similar."

"Okay," she said. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't propose to my best friend with a hand-me-down or anything." She laughed as if it were a joke, but there was nothing funny about it to him.

"No," he said, guilt swirling inside. "I wouldn't do that."

...

Jake was almost a little _too_ well-behaved for Michael's liking on Monday. They sat through his afternoon classes together, alternating with actual music on the iPod and mimicking music with things like pencil tapping and lap patting. It kept him pacified, for the most part, and when it was time to leave for the day, he actually gave Michael a hug. It was the first normal social interaction Michael had seen from the kid, so it was something to celebrate.

But he couldn't celebrate, not with the mood he was in. All day, he'd been distracted, unable to _truly_ focus on Jake, or his workout with Kyle, or anything else he'd attempted to do. He could only think about one thing.

He'd just said goodbye to Jake when Dylan came waddling down the hall, a look of concentration on his face as he read something off of a crinkled piece of paper. He was so focused on it that he nearly ran into a few people.

"What you got there, Dylan?" Michael asked him.

He looked up and grumbled, "A note."

"A note? From who?"

"Emily."

"Emily? She's in your class, right?"

"Uh-huh. Look." Dylan handed him the note, and Michael only had to read the first sentence to know what it was about.

"Uh-oh, you're in the big leagues now, buddy," he cautioned. "This is a _love_ note."

"She loves me?" Dylan sounded surprised.

"No. She just has a crush on you. Take it as a compliment. You're a stud."

He made a face of disgust. "But girls are weird."

"They are," Michael readily agreed. "But they're also awesome."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. Trust me, I would know. Girls like me, too."

"Hmm." Dylan smiled and took the note back from him, shoving it into his pocket. "My mom likes you," he stated simply.

Michael fell silent, just staring at Dylan like an idiot. He wanted to ask what he meant by that, but . . . it was probably nothing.

"Bye, Micho!" Dylan chirped. With a little wave, he darted outside.

"Bye," Michael whispered, watching him go. He scampered out to the loading and unloading zone of the parking lot, where Maria was waiting for him. She knelt down, and he ran straight into her arms and hugged her tightly. She looked happy. Happy to see him, at least. Probably not all that happy overall.

Even though this probably wasn't the right time _or_ the right place, Michael knew he had to seize the opportunity to talk to her, maybe set things straight. He couldn't stand the thought that he'd upset her, but he knew he had. That look in her eyes yesterday when she'd seen that ring on Sarah's hand . . . she'd seemed _so_ broken-hearted.

He hurried outside and got to her just as she was buckling Dylan into his car seat. "Maria. Can we talk?"

She shut the back door of her car and muttered, "No," avoiding all eye contact with him as she walked around to the other side.

"Please?" he begged, following her.

She whirled around, hand resting on the driver's side door handle. "No, Michael. There's nothing to say."

"Are you kidding?" he spat. "There's a lot to say."

She flapped her arms against her sides as if it were no big deal. "You're engaged. It's fine. Let's just leave it at that."

"But I-"

"Michael." She stared at him sternly, as if she absolutely _refused_ to have this conversation. "Dylan's in the car. Let's not do this right now."

 _But if not now,_ he thought, _when_? This wasn't exactly the kind of conversation they could have in the back of the classroom tomorrow. "Maria . . ."

"I don't wanna talk about it," she snapped. "Just leave me alone."

 _I don't want to,_ he thought. He wanted to talk to her, apologize, tell her it'd been a mistake. He'd never intended to use that ring again. It had just . . . it'd just happened.

She got in the car, and he was left with no choice but to step back up onto the sidewalk and wave sullenly at Dylan as she drove away. It wasn't the first time she'd driven away from him, and at this rate, it probably wouldn't be the last.

...

"Knock, knock," Liz said as she came into the house, holding Scarlet's hand.

All nestled up on the couch, Maria managed a groggy, "Hey," and a tired smiled.

"Wow, you look all settled in," Liz remarked. She let go of her daughter's hand, and Scarlet immediately ran for the Xbox controllers. Even though she didn't know how to use them, she seemed to enjoy fiddling with the knobs and buttons whenever she was over there.

"Come, grab some couch," Maria urged her friend, bringing her feet in to make some room. "This is where the party's at."

"Clearly." Liz sat down, and Maria noticed how nice she looked. Full makeup and wavy glamorous hair. She even had on a maroon off-the-shoulder dress that looked new. Apparently this date tonight was a big deal.

"Where's Dylan?" Liz asked.

"In his room doing homework," Maria replied.

"How responsible."

"Well, either that or he's writing a note to this girl in his class." She spotted him reading the note from Emily on the way home. She knew what was up.

"Romance?" Liz gasped. "In kindergarten?"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Either way he's writing, so it's educational."

Liz laughed lightly. "That's one way to look at it." Her eyes drifted over to Scarlet for a moment, and after telling her a few times not to chew on the Xbox controller, she returned her attention to Maria and deduced, "So I take it you finally checked Sarah's Instagram."

 _I must look really down in the dumps then,_ Maria thought, knowing she'd have to perk up before Max got home. "No, I didn't," she said, sitting up a bit. "But I heard the big news. They're engaged."

Liz nodded, then asked, "Who told you?"

"They did."

Liz seemed surprised by that. "Face to face?"

"Mmm-hmm." She doubted any of it had been planned. Michael would have wanted to tell her alone, and he would have tried like hell not to let her see that ring right away.

"How'd that go?" Liz asked.

 _Horrible,_ she thought. Even now, she wished she didn't know about it. "It was weird, but . . ." She shrugged, trying to seem more at ease with it than she actually really was. "It's fine. I'm happy for them."

"Yeah, you look thrilled," Liz noted sarcastically.

"I'm okay with it," she insisted, only because she _had_ to be okay with it. "Here, show me those Instagram pics."

"You sure?" Liz asked, hesitantly taking her phone out of her purse.

"Yes."

Liz sighed. "Okay." She slid her thumbs over the screen rapidly, and soon enough, she'd navigated to Sarah's Instagram and handed the phone over to Maria.

"Cute," Maria remarked, quelling her resentment when she looked at the first picture, which was the ring on Sarah's finger. She scrolled to the next one, which was a selfie where Sarah was holding up her hand. "Cute." The third was probably the hardest to look at, though, because Michael was standing behind her, his arms around her. "Super cute." She handed the phone back to Liz and commented, "They're like the perfect couple."

"They do seem like a good match," Liz agreed, putting her phone away again. "And that's a nice ring."

Maria swallowed hard, agreeing, "Sure is." She wondered what Sarah would think if she found out she wasn't the first girl to wear it, though. Surely then she wouldn't be so eager to post all those photos online. Not that Maria ever planned on telling her. She wasn't about to be that vindictive.

Itching to change the topic, Maria cleared her throat and asked Liz, "So what's the sitch? Who you goin' out with tonight?"

"Oh, you know . . ." Liz squirmed around a bit, then mumbled, "Alex."

"Alex?" Maria echoed in astonishment. "Wait a minute, I thought you said he ran for the hills when you made a move on him."

"He did, but . . . I don't know, I guess he had a change of heart."

 _Finally,_ Maria thought, _a little good news._ "So you guys are _finally_ officially going out on a date?"

Liz blushed. "Yes."

"Oh my god, it's about time. I'm telling you, you two are meant to end up together."

"Well, I'm not so sure about that," Liz said, ever the skeptic. "And neither is he, so tonight's really just about testing the waters and seeing if it's even possible."

"And if it's not?" Maria asked, even though she was pretty sure there would be at least _some_ sparks tonight.

"Then we'll just stay good friends," Liz said, as if it were that simple. "At the end of the day, that's really what means the most to me, you know?"

"Yeah," Maria said, wishing she _did_ know. She wished her friendship with Michael was so strong, but it was just frustrating that, no matter how close they became, that friend level of their relationship just never did overpower the romantic one. "Well, I hope it goes well," she said.

"Thanks," Liz said. "And thanks for watching Scarlet."

"No problem." Maria looked at the little girl again, who was now singing some kind of song in her own language and rolling around on the floor. "Now _she's_ super cute," she said, wishing it was possible to be that little and carefree again.

...

Liz and Alex had no real plan in mind for their date night. The whole thing still felt sort of strange to Liz, so she dressed for the ambiguity and decided to just go with the flow. And the flow was good. First they stopped at one of Alex's favorite restaurants for pizza, and after that, they just drove around and talked for a while. Eventually they ended up at The Cave, which was much less packed than it had been on the night of its grand reopening. They ordered drinks, and Liz even got Alex out on the dance floor for a bit. Even though he had two left feet, he didn't act embarrassed. In fact, it was only when he literally bumped into one of his students out there that he decided to sit back down.

Once they'd had their fill of the club scene, they drove down the street to another bar, an older, less-crowded one. The had another round of drinks and played some pool, then sat and talked some more until they started to feel tired and decided to head home.

It really had been a nice night, and a great date, better than any date Liz had been on in a long time.

Alex drove her home and came inside with her, and that was the only point when it actually started to feel weird. Up until this point, she'd felt relatively normal, like she and Alex were just hanging out as friends. They hadn't held hands or sat extra close together or flirted or anything. But now that the date was over, it almost seemed like . . . like there was an expectation. To kiss or something.

"Well, I had a great time," he told her.

"Yeah, me too," she agreed, setting her purse down on the couch. "I'm really glad we did this."

"Yeah, it was fun." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, suddenly looking nervous himself. Did he feel that same expectation? And if he did, would he do anything about it.

"So . . ." She flapped her arms against her sides, unsure of where to go from here. If Scarlet weren't with Max and Maria tonight, she was sure Alex would have stuck around and played with her for a while if she was awake enough. If not that, he would have sat with her in the chair and rocked her while she slept. But it was just the two of them tonight.

"Well, I should probably get home," he said, taking a few steps forward. "Unless . . ."

"Unless?" Was he seriously thinking about staying the night? He couldn't be. That was way too . . . extreme.

He took his hands out of his pockets, reached out to take hers in his, and slowly leaned down, as if he were about to kiss her. Part of her wanted to take a step back, or tell him to stop, just because it felt too strange. Sure, they'd kissed before, slept together even, but that had been a long time ago. Before Max.

 _Max._ The moment she thought of him, he managed to overshadow every amazing thing about this date tonight.

Even so, she closed her eyes and let Alex kiss her. She even tried kissing him back, because . . . well, it was worth a shot. But all she could think about was Max Evans, and how much she wished he was the guy doing this with her.

This wasn't fair to Alex.

She pulled away sheepishly, wishing she hadn't let that happen. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt his feelings. But when she caught sight of that knowing, resigned look on his face, she started to feel relieved, because it just seemed like they were on the same page.

"No," he said.

"No," she agreed. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Don't be sorry. I get it."

"I just don't think . . ." She trailed off, sighing frustratedly. "There's no . . ."

"Chemistry," he filled in. "I know. At least not the romantic kind."

"I wish there was," she mumbled, sitting down on the couch. "It'd make things a lot easier." This whole harboring feelings for her ex-boyfriend thing was growing very old very fast. And it didn't help that he was with Maria, who really truly was one of her best friends.

"We can't force it," Alex said, sitting down beside her. "At least we gave it a shot, though. Now we know for sure there's nothing there."

"Nothing but a really solid friendship," she said, smiling at him. "You really are my best friend, Alex. You know that, right?"

He smiled back at her, reaching over to pat her leg. "I know," he said. "You're my best friend, too."

Growing up, she'd always thought she would end up marrying her best friend. But apparently that wouldn't be the case. And honesty, at this point, she felt like she'd be lucky to ever get married at all. It was as if all she could do was compare every single guy to Max. Whether it was something subconscious or calculated, she always did it. And it wasn't that Alex was inferior to Max in any way. It was just that Max had a hold of a part of her, and even through the ups and downs, that hold hadn't loosened at all. If anything, it had tightened over the years.

"Can I ask you something?" he inquired suddenly.

"Sure." He could ask her anything.

But what he _did_ ask . . . caught her off guard. "Are you still in love with Max?"

She froze momentarily, stunned. How did he know? Did he just know her really well, or was she obvious? Had anyone else asked her that question, she surely would have lied, but because it was Alex, she fessed up and told the truth. "Yeah. I am."

Alex nodded, as if he'd already known the answer. But it was nice that he didn't react judgmentally at all.

"What about you?" she questioned in return.

He chuckled and joked, "No, I'm not still in love with Max."

"You know what I mean."

"What, Leanna?" he filled in. "No, no, that's over now."

"Alex." She gave him a look. "Not Leanna." It was pretty obvious, to her, at least, that there was still a girl in his heart, and that girl wasn't his ex-wife.

He took in a deep, shuddering breath, as though he didn't want to own up to it, even though she already knew. "Who then?" he asked.

"Who else?" Max wasn't the only Evans who had a magnetic pull over the opposite sex. "Isabel. Do you still have feelings for her?"

Alex was silent for a few seconds as he lowered his head and stared down at the floor. He didn't seem proud to admit it, but at long last, he did. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I don't know why. But I think I always will."

Liz nodded, understanding. What Alex felt for Isabel was hardly different than what she felt for Max. It was intense, constant, hard to explain. And unrequited.

...

"Oh, Isabel!"

Isabel groaned when Courtney came up the stairs, singing her name at the top of her lungs. Wasn't it too early to get up? It felt too early.

"Isabel!" Courtney exclaimed, throwing open the bedroom door. "Wake up! You've been sleeping all morning."

"What?" Isabel forced her eyes open and squinted at the numbers on the bedside clock. The furthest number to the left was about three numbers over what it should have been. "Oh my god, I slept through class!" she fretted, sitting up. "Why didn't my alarm go off?"

"Oh, I turned it off," Courtney informed her.

"What? Why?"

"Well, we all had such a late night last night, and I figured you needed your sleep. But then you just _kept_ sleeping, and the boys went out, so now I'm really bored."

Isabel groaned, running her hands through her hair. "You can't do that, Courtney." She already missed class enough this semester; she really couldn't afford to miss anymore.

"It's just college," Courtney said. "It's so pointless, Isabel. I mean, it's not like you're really gonna be a famous writer or anything."

 _Thanks for that vote of confidence,_ Isabel thought sarcastically. Courtney was her friend and everything, but she was annoying as hell sometimes. Didn't mean she was wrong, though. "No, I guess I'm not," Isabel agreed sullenly. That dream had faded away, right along with Princeton.

"Now that you're _finally_ up . . ." Courtney hopped onto the foot of the bed, looking like an excited puppy or something. "Guess what?"

"What?" Chances were, whatever Courtney was bursting at the seams to tell her, it wouldn't be all that interesting.

"Michael got engaged."

Isabel's eyebrows show up. _Okay,_ she thought, _so I was wrong._ That _was_ interesting. "Where'd you hear that from?" she asked.

"Friend of a friend . . . of a friend of a friend. Word gets around."

"Huh." Had it not already happened once before, it probably would have been more shocking. But still . . . it definitely threw Isabel for a loop. "Who'd he pop the question to this time?"

"His Asian girlfriend," Courtney replied.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised? She's hot. I'd totally do her."

"Yeah, she's really pretty," Isabel acknowledged—Michael didn't really date ugly girls. "But . . ." There was just one problem that she could see. "I just didn't think he'd ask her to marry him."

"Oh, right," Courtney said. "He _is_ more of the 'hit it, don't commit it' type."

Isabel shook her head. "No, I don't think he has a problem with committing," she said. "I just didn't think he would. Not to her."

"Why not?" Courtney asked.

Isabel laughed angrily, recalling all sorts of unpleasant memories of betrayal at his hands. "Because she's not Maria."

...

In desperate need of an energy boost, Michael stopped by the student union for coffee before class. He didn't even know what exactly it was that he ordered, but the barista assured him it was full of caffeine. Taking one look at it, though, Michael was unimpressed. It seemed like a hell of a lot of foam and not a whole lot else.

"Hey, is there even any coffee in here?" he asked, a bit more demanding than he usually would have been. He wasn't in a good mood today, which meant anything could set him off. This pathetic excuse for coffee could be that thing.

"Yeah, it's exactly what you ordered," the barista said.

"I ordered _coffee_ ," Michael snapped. "This is like air. I don't wanna drink air."

The barista just shrugged helplessly, clueless, and Michael was about to demand a refund. Or a new cup of coffee. Or _something_. But all of a sudden, there was Isabel, sidling right up next to him, obviously about to make his morning even worse.

"Now, now, Michael, don't be rude," she scolded.

He rolled his eyes, stepping out of the line, and of course she followed him. "What do you want?" he grumbled.

"God, you're in a bad mood," she remarked. "I wouldn't think someone who's recently engaged would be so testy."

He stopped and gave her a hard look. "Who the hell told you?"

"Just heard it through the grapevine." She took his coffee right out of his hand and took a sip. "Mmm. Do you not want this then? 'cause I'll take it."

"Whatever." He turned to walk away, but she must have been feeling especially obnoxious today, because she scurried in front of him, blocking his progress.

"So are you really gonna do it?" she asked almost tauntingly. "Marry someone who's not Maria?" She gasped exaggeratedly and brought her free hand up to cover her mouth. "Shocking."

"Maria and I aren't together," he pointed out. "We haven't been for a long time."

"Right, but . . . I'm gonna assume you're still in love with her, because you're . . . well, you know . . . _you_."

Even if she was right, there was no way he'd have this conversation with her. _Hell_ no. He hadn't even been able to have it with Kyle. "I'm in love with Sarah," he informed her. "Deeply, truly, madly in love. That's why I proposed to her."

Isabel narrowed her eyes at him doubtfully. "Are you sure?"

 _No,_ he thought, but he didn't miss a beat. "Yes. You see, that's what happens when a guy loves a girl, Isabel. He asks her to marry him. Now, I don't expect you to ever experience that, because the only thing your boyfriend loves is his porn business."

She glared at him and deadpanned, "Funny."

"But I do love Sarah, and I am gonna marry her. So I think what you should be saying is _congratulations._ "

"Oh, I would congratulate you," she said, "if I thought for a second you were gonna go through with it."

 _God, Isabel Evans, you are such a bitch,_ he thought, rolling his eyes, pretending to _just_ be annoyed with her. But the truth was, he was unnerved, and not because of her attitude. Because of her skepticism.

"Goodbye, Isabel," he said, pushing past her, eager to get out of there.

"I know I'm right, Michael!" she called after him as he walked away. "I know you!"

 _No, you don't,_ he thought, trying his hardest to forget everything she'd just said.

...

Music class that day was pointless because Maria wasn't there. Michael sat through the whole thing, just in case she showed up, but she never did. Work the next afternoon was pointless, too, because Maria also wasn't there. Spencer came in to work the shift with Michael instead. Frustrated by all the avoidance, he tried to reach her. Phone calls that resulted in voicemails. Texts that were left unanswered. It was like she was deliberately trying to cut herself off from him.

He showed up early to class on Thursday, hoping and praying that today would be different. If he could just see her and say something to her, then maybe they could straighten this whole thing out. It killed him to think that he might have screwed up his relationship with her. Friendship. Whatever the hell it was.

He waited and waited while the other students started to flock into the classroom. Gradually, the seats became more and more filled up, and the clock ticked closer and closer to the start time. He was starting to think she wouldn't show, or worse, that she'd perhaps dropped the class entirely or switched to the other professor's section; but then suddenly, there she was, barely peeking her head in the door, as if she weren't sure whether or not she was going to enter.

"Alright, let's go ahead and get started," the professor said.

 _Come on, Maria,_ Michael thought, but she didn't even make eye contact with him as she shut the door and left. _No._

"We've got a new decade of music to study," the professor went on, "and while it may lack the notoriety of the sixties or the infamy of the eighties, there is certainly still a lot to appreciate about the music of the 1970s."

 _Screw this,_ Michael thought, shooting up from his seat. He was in such a hurry to get out of there that he almost left without his backpack.

He rushed out of the room, not bothering to be polite or quiet on his way out, and raced down the hall after Maria, who had a pretty quick pace going herself. "Maria, wait!" he called, catching up with her.

"Let's not do this, Michael," she mumbled, still zooming forward, her eyes fixed in front of her. "Not here."

"I just wanna talk to you." Was that really so much to ask? "What're you gonna do, ignore me for the rest of your life?"

She grunted. "I wish."

He followed her out the door and down the steps, about to get in front of her and just fucking block her progress at this point. "Maria, please!"

She stopped abruptly and whirled around, her hair practically whipping his face as it swung over her shoulder. "I don't know what you expect me to say," she ground out.

"I just want you to talk to me." He didn't even care if she yelled, because he knew he deserved it. "I miss you."

That seemed to soften her a bit. Her angry frown morphed into more of a sad pout, and she took a few steps back. "Look, I'm not . . . I'm not mad that you asked her to marry you," she told him. "She's a really good person, and you guys are great together."

 _Are we?_ he wondered. Lately, he wasn't so sure. "Maria . . ."

"But the same exact ring, Michael?" she cut in, her voice shrill with emotion. "You had to propose to her with the same exact ring you gave me?"

He felt helpless, because there was no way to let her know that it had been a mistake without divulging too much. If she knew he'd just _happened_ to have that ring in his hand when Sarah had walked in, then she'd have even more questions, ones he wasn't prepared to answer. "I'm sorry," he apologized, not sure what else he could say.

"You said that was _my_ ring."

"You didn't want it," he reminded her. "You gave it back to me."

She threw her hands up in the air, looking exasperated now. "Not so you could give it to her!" Tears sprang to her eyes suddenly, and her voice was quiet and broken when she squeaked out, "How could you, Michael? How could you do this to me?"

Those words . . . they were like a knife to his heart. He'd never meant to cause her any pain, and he hated himself for it.

"And it's not fair to Sarah, either," she added. "I'm guessing she doesn't know. But how do you think she'd feel if she knew I used to wear that ring?"

Common sense told him to stay quiet, but impulse got the best of him, and he snapped, "How do you think I feel knowing you're back together with the guy who stole it?"

"Oh, so is that what this is about? You're trying to spite me?"

"No! It's just . . ." He stopped and took a breath to prevent himself from getting riled up. "Look, you know me; you know how I am. Sometimes I do stupid things."

"But you're not a stupid guy," she pointed out, "so why didn't you just use a different ring? Her _own_ ring."

"I don't know." He wished like hell he had. Then they could have avoided this whole issue. He flapped his arms against his sides and decided, "I'll get a different one now."

She laughed tearfully at the ridiculousness of that idea. "No you can't. You gave her _that_ ring. It's hers now."

 _No, it's not,_ he thought. Maybe he could take it from her, just like Max had taken it from Maria. He could use the down-the-drain excuse, get her a new one. And give this one back to Maria. Just so she had it. Because it was still hers.

"It just hurts, that's all," Maria told him, gulping back tears. He could see all her emotions _right there_ , right on the edge, about to pour over. But somehow, she kept them in. "But I'll get over it," she said, forcing a smile. But it was the sad kind, and those were always hard to look at. She turned her back to him just as her tears started to fall, and slowly this time, she walked away. And even though he would have only had to have taken one step to keep up with two of hers, he let her go this time, sensing that she needed space.

She didn't look like she was getting over it, though. She didn't look like she was over anything.


	54. Chapter 54

The whole day sucked for Michael. Work was long, longer than it was supposed to be because he had to wait around for a half an hour for the next person on duty to show up. And after that, he was only able to spend about an hour at Pound with Jake. And it wasn't a good hour. Apparently one of the other kids had yelled at Jake that morning, and another had shoved him, and he'd been hysterical about it all day. Michael ended up calling Jake's mom to come get him before the day was even over with.

When he got home, at least something smelled good. Sarah was in the kitchen making some brand new concoction, and whatever it was, he'd try it, because it was bound to be delicious.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." He hadn't expected her to be there, though, at least not right when he got home. "No work today?"

"Nope." She rose up on her tiptoes, angling her cheek towards him, and he kissed it quickly.

"How was your day?" she asked, stirring some soupy mixture in a large pot.

He sugarcoated it, just because there was no need to rehash. "Fine. You?"

"It was good," she said, turning down the heat for the burner she was using. She covered up the pot and wiped her hands off on one of the towels hanging from the oven handle. "So did you see Maria today?" she asked.

That struck him as a weird question, but he answered it honestly. "Yeah, in class. Why?"

"Oh, well . . . you remember my friend Holly?"

He gave her a confused look.

"My friend from chemistry class?"

Holly, Holly . . . nope, the only Holly he knew was a girl he'd slept with back in high school, and no way was that chick smart enough for chemistry. "Not really," he replied.

"Well, she remembers you. She said she saw you on campus today. Talking to a blonde girl. Who I assumed was Maria."

He'd been a little worried about that, having that conversation with her outside. Not many people had passed them by, but there had definitely been a few who were rushing to their classes. "Yeah, we talked," he admitted.

Sarah nodded, but clearly there was a reason for all of this. "Actually, she said it kinda looked like you were arguing."

 _Shit,_ he thought. _So much for honesty._ "Oh, that. No that was—that was nothing," he said flippantly. "She was mad at me 'cause I was braggin' about this grade I got on our last quiz. I deserved it, really. I was bein' an ass."

"Oh, I see," she said, apparently buying into that. "Well, that's a relief. I thought maybe she was mad about . . . other stuff."

Michael just played dumb, acting like he had no idea what that 'other stuff' could even be. "What do you mean?"

"Just . . ." She shrugged. "Us. Our engagement."

He felt his stomach start to tighten, but he remained calm and casual. "No. No, she's—she's fine with that. She even told me she thinks we're great together. And we are, so . . ." He put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed them. "You don't have to worry about that."

She sighed, still seemingly . . . well, worried. "I just wonder if maybe I was a little too excited or, like, exuberant when I told her," she fretted. "I mean, yeah, she's my friend, but she's _your_ ex-girlfriend. Ex-fiancée, actually. I never even stopped to consider that maybe I was being insensitive. I shouldn't have been so spastic about it; I should've toned it down. Or maybe I should've just let you tell her."

He would have liked that, to be able to just pull her aside after class in that room that was never locked. They'd already had plenty of difficult conversations in there. It would have been the right spot to have one more. And then he would have had time to plan out what to say, and maybe it wouldn't have caught her so off guard. But Sarah didn't have to be feeling guilty about any of what had or hadn't happened. "No, Sarah, don't . . . don't beat yourself up over this, okay?" he said. "You deserve to be happy."

"But what if I was, like, _obnoxiously_ happy?" she worried.

"You weren't."

"I wasn't trying to rub it in her face or anything."

"You didn't." He wasn't about to let her feel bad for feeling excited. "Don't worry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yeah." He had, but she hadn't. "Trust me, Maria's really . . ." He tried not to picture those tears in her eyes as he said, "She's really happy for us. Really happy."

At last, Sarah's relief seemed to overpower her concern, and a smile found its way to her face. And _she_ looked happy again, too. She looped her arms around his neck and hugged him, and he hugged her back, waiting for her to let go. But she didn't. She just liked being held by him. So he held her, trying to ignore that sinking feeling in his gut, the one that got stronger and stronger with each lie that piled up.

...

Relief surged through Maria when she checked her phone and saw a mass text message sent by her music professor. "Oh, thank God."

"What?" Liz asked as she took a cupcake tin out of the oven.

"My music class got cancelled. Professor's sick."

Liz set the cupcakes down on the counter and turned off the oven. "I thought you liked that class," she said.

"I do. It's just . . ." _Michael,_ she thought. She didn't want to have to see him or deal with him at all today. "It's just really boring right now," she fibbed.

"I see." Liz reached into the glass display case and took out two meticulously frosted doughnuts. Maria shook her head to politely decline, and Liz put one of them back, taking the other out for herself.

"So is it official that you and Alex are dunzo when it comes to dating now?" Maria asked. "Or is there still hope?" The whole reason why she'd stopped by Liz's bakery in the first place was to get the scoop. And kill some time to avoid going to class. But at least that wasn't an issue anymore.

Liz took a bite of the doughnut and shook her head. "No, there's no hope. We both agree that it's just not a romantic thing. And that's okay. At least we gave it a shot."

"Yeah," Maria agreed, disappointed. She'd really been hoping for some sparks between the two of them. "That's too bad, though. It just would've been so easy."

"It would've," Liz agreed, but she didn't sound broken-hearted about it at all.

"Okay, do you know if he still has a thing for Isabel then?" Maria was well aware that she was being nosy, but it was just nice to delve into someone else's love life instead of dwelling on her own. "Because I noticed him noticing her at Christmas."

Liz gave her a look that said it all. "I'm not supposed to say anything," she mumbled.

"So he does," Maria concluded. "Oh my god, why? I don't get that. He's so mature and dignified, and she is an absolute train wreck."

"I know. He knows, too. But you know how it goes sometimes. No matter how hard you try to control it or talk yourself out of it . . ." Liz shrugged. "The heart wants what it wants."

Maria thought about that for a moment and nodded slowly, reluctantly. Considering the state her own heart was in lately . . . that made it a lot easier to understand.

...

Weren't weekends meant for sleeping in? Michael felt it was way too early for anyone to be up and knocking on his door Saturday morning. "What the hell?" he groaned, trudging to the door. He opened it, expecting Kyle to be waiting out there for him, wanting another early morning workout. But instead, he came face to face with his mom and his sister.

"Surprise!" his mother exclaimed.

"What?" He was so confused what they were doing there.

"We thought we'd come visit," she said, pulling him into a hug. "Oh, I missed you."

He was still too out of it to really formulate a sentence, but when he glanced at his little sister, he managed to. "You're so round." She looked like a giant beach ball, or like that blueberry girl from the Willy Wonka movie.

"Shut up," she yelped while simultaneously allowing him to put his arm around her and hug her to his side. She made a face and commented, "Ew, you stink."

"I haven't showered yet."

"Are you guys still sleeping?" his mother asked, trying to peer over his shoulder inside the apartment. "It's after 9:00."

Was it? Huh. It was sort of gloomy and cloudy out, so it felt earlier. "Late night," he explained.

Tina looked up at Krista and clarified, "That means sex, Mom."

"Thanks, sweetie, I got it," she said.

From inside, Sarah started to stir, and Michael heard her call his name. "Michael? What's going on?"

He glanced back over his shoulder and replied, "We have company."

Showering was the first step for Michael that morning. Sarah made breakfast while he did that, and even though they both had already eaten that morning, neither his mother nor his sister turned down an omelet from Sarah. Tina even asked for a second one, using the excuse that she was eating for two. When Michael got out of the shower, there weren't any omelets left for him, because apparently they'd run out of eggs. Sarah made him pancakes instead, though, which suited him just fine. He gobbled them down while she took her turn in the shower, and once she was out, she sat down in the living room with her future in-laws while Michael opted to do the dishes.

"Now, don't you two worry; we're not gonna inconvenience you too much," his mom assured Sarah. "I've got a hotel room, so we'll just sleep there tonight."

"Yeah, we just don't have enough room here," Sarah said. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize. We're the ones who showed up unannounced."

"Mom just _had_ to bring your engagement gift in person," Tina, who was sprawled out on the floor on a pile of pillows, added.

"Isn't it a little early?" Michael asked from the kitchen.

"Oh, no." His mother turned to look at him and informed him, "This is just one of many gifts, by the way. There will be more." She then got up and took her jacket off the coat rack, rummaging through the pockets for a small envelope. She brought it back to Sarah and urged, "Go ahead and open it."

"Oh, okay." Sarah sliced open the envelope with a fingernail, and her eyes got wide when she pulled out a check. "Oh my gosh, Krista . . . no way, this is too nice of you."

Michael forgot about the dishes and sauntered towards them. "What is it?" he asked.

She handed it to him, and his eyes bulged a little, too. A thousand dollar check. "Wow." That was a nice-looking number.

"We can't take that," Sarah said politely.

"Of course we can," Michael said, feeling no such inclination to even try to turn it down. "Thank you, Mom."

"You're welcome," she said. "You know, I just figured you'll have to get your own home someday—somewhere not on campus—and maybe a small donation from me can help you furnish it or . . . I don't know, decorate it or something."

"It's not a _small_ donation at all," Sarah assured her, even though her own family's finances were far superior. "It's very generous. Thank you so much." She leaned over and hugged her. "You know what? I'm so lucky," she raved. "I hit the jackpot in the boyfriend department _and_ the mother in-law-department."

"And the sister-in-law department," Tina added.

"That, too."

Krista laughed. "Well, I couldn't ask for a better daughter-in-law, that's for sure. So I'm thrilled that's what you're gonna be to me."

"Aw . . ." Sarah placed one hand over her heart. "That's so sweet."

Michael frowned, though. Was she more excited at the prospect of having Sarah as a daughter-in-law than she had been with Maria? Because it seemed like it. And his mom had always loved Maria. So why did this excite her more?

"I actually brought something else, too," Krista said. "Thought it was appropriate." She bent forward and picked up a large book—what looked like a photo album—off the floor. Michael hadn't even noticed her bring it in.

"Oh, your wedding album!" Sarah exclaimed as Krista set it on her lap. She traced her fingers over the leather-bound cover, which had _Mr. and Mrs. Guerin_ engraved onto it. "Gosh, this is beautiful."

"We couldn't afford a fancy photographer, but the pictures still turned out nice," Krista said.

"Definitely." Sarah opened to the first page, which was a large photo of the two of them at the altar, arms around each other. Michael peered down at it over her shoulder, amazed by how young his parents used to look. He didn't remember them ever looking that young.

"I love your dress," Sarah remarked.

"That wasn't fancy, either," Krista acknowledged. "But I needed something to accommodate the baby bump."

Upon closer inspection, Michael noticed that bump. His mom's dress had been long and loose, sort of like something that belonged in the sixties. It had concealed her pregnancy well.

"Wow," Sarah said as she flipped to another page. It had photos of the once happy couple kissing and laughing. "You guys look really in love."

"We were," Krista said, smiling wistfully.

Michael didn't remember them ever looking like that, either. He cast a quick glance at his sister, and he noticed that she'd sat up on the floor to get a better look at the photos. But there were tears in her eyes.

"Hey," he said, sensing that she needed to get out of there just as much as he did. "You wanna go for a walk?"

She smiled gratefully and nodded.

They left their mother and Sarah to look through the rest of the wedding album. It was different for them, because Sarah had never known Andy Guerin, and Krista had once known a different version of him. But the only father Michael remembered was the one who had hated his guts, and Tina . . . well, she probably couldn't think about him without remembering what it had been like to find him dead in his bed.

"So that was kinda weird, huh? Seein' pictures of Mom and Dad back then," he said as they strolled out past the putting green and the beach volleyball courts near Vidorra. Normally, people would be utilizing them, but it was too cold this morning.

"Yeah, it was weird," she agreed, pulling the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt down over her hands. "I wish Dad would've stayed that happy."

"Me, too," Michael agreed, wondering if things would have gone differently for him, for both of them, if the guy hadn't been such a downright depressed alcoholic.

"I gotta sit," Tina said, holding one hand to her back. She waddled towards a bench and sat down eagerly, and Michael scooted in next to her. She really was huge, and she still had over a month to go.

"I think he'd be happy for you now," she said, much to his surprise.

"Really?" He had a hard time picturing his dad ever being happy for him.

"Yeah. I bet he'd like Sarah. Everybody likes Sarah."

"True." Actually, his dad had always liked Isabel, too. But he'd never liked Maria.

"So . . ." Tina looked at him expectantly and asked, "How'd you get that ring back?"

His stomach clenched, but he tried to look . . . confused, mostly. "What?"

"The ring," she repeated. "It's the same one you gave Maria."

 _Uh-oh,_ he thought. _Time to play dumb._ "No, it's not."

She didn't buy it for a second, though. "Yeah, it is. I helped you pick it out. I remember what it looks like."

She'd been in fifth grade at the time, though. Honestly, he'd been hoping she would have forgotten. "That ring went down a sink drain," he reminded her.

"Yeah, so that's why I'm asking how you got it back."

Clearly denying it wasn't going to work on her. She was a smart kid, and there was no way he could pull one over on her. "Turns out it never went down the drain," he revealed. "Max stole it."

"Max?" she echoed, an immediate edge of hysteria to her voice. "The guy who took Dylan?"

"Yeah." Part of him loved that, while everyone else was _so_ busy giving Max a second chance, Tina would always think of him simply as _the guy who took Dylan._ Not the guy who was reformed, not Dylan's father. Just a creep. "Oh, and then he sold it, tracked it down and bought it back, gave it to Maria for Christmas this year."

"Wait, Max proposed to Maria?"

"No, he just gave her the ring back," Michael clarified. "And then she gave it to me."

"And you gave it to Sarah." She nodded, taking that all in. " _Wow_."

Yeah, that ring had certainly made the rounds, more than he wished it had. "Don't tell her, okay?"

"Oh, I won't," she promised.

"It's just . . ." He tried to come up with a plausible excuse for how any of this had happened, and the only one that came to mind was a pretty stupid one. "Rings are expensive, so I was trying to be responsible. You know, financially."

"Whatever you say." She didn't sound like she believed him.

"I feel kinda bad about it," he admitted. Like Maria had said the other day, it wasn't fair to her _or_ to Sarah. He'd wronged both of them by reusing that ring, but Sarah didn't even realize it.

"Hey, I think it's a good thing, in a way," Tina said. "I mean, if you're willing to part with that ring, then that means you're completely over Maria, right?"

He wished that was what it meant. He wished it were that simple. "Right."

"Yeah, so . . . it's good," she reiterated.

He nodded mutely, pretending he agreed with that. But in his heart, he knew the truth: There was nothing good about it. He'd been telling a lot of lies lately, but he couldn't lie to himself.

...

Even though she'd done everything in her power to rearrange shifts with other people, Maria ended up working the front desk at Vidorra Saturday afternoon. At least it was a solo shift, though, so as long as Michael didn't come down, she'd be fine. No drama. No emotions. Just work.

She'd just begun the mind-numbing task of logging roommate complaints for Brody to review when a very large girl stepped off the elevator and made a beeline for the vending machine. Maria probably wouldn't have even noticed her had it not been so obvious that she was pregnant, so that made her do a double take. And when she did, she realized that wasn't just any girl, and it definitely wasn't even in a college student. It was Michael's sister.

"Tina?" she called.

Tina glanced over her shoulder and didn't even crack a smile. "Oh. Maria," she said coldly before shifting her focus back to the machine in front of her. "You work here now?"

"Yeah, for a couple months now."

"Of course." Tina rapidly punched a few numbers, and the machine dispensed a bag of chips for her. There was another one dangling right on the edge, though, so she whacked the side of the machine with surprising strength, and it fell. Smirking, she reached down into the bottom of the machine and grabbed the two bags.

"How are you?" Maria asked her.

Tina flapped her arms against her sides and shuffled towards the front desk. "Pregnant," she replied. "You?"

"Not so much." She remembered what it felt like to be that pregnant, though. There was a lot of soreness, mostly, and fear when you were young like Tina was. "So are you—are you visiting your brother?"

"Yeah," Tina confirmed. "So is my mom. She wanted to congratulate Michael and Sarah on their engagement in person."

 _Of course,_ Maria thought bitterly, _the engagement._ "Yeah, that's . . . that's the big news." At this point, she just wanted them to get married and be done with it so she didn't have to think about it anymore.

"It's pretty cool," Tina said. "Have you seen her ring?"

Maria shuddered inwardly. "Yeah, I have."

"It's really pretty, isn't it?"

Though she was pretty sure Tina was just trying to rub it in her face that Michael had _totally_ moved on, there wasn't a whole lot she could do but just go along with it. "It looks like it was made for her to wear," she forced herself to say.

Tina stared at her intensely and said, "I couldn't agree more." Then, the same way she'd smirked at that vending machine, she grinned at Maria and said, "See ya," before heading back to the elevator. Maria waited until she had gotten back on and the doors had shut before she allowed her frown to set in. Was this really what she was going to have to do from here on out, pretend to be happy for Michael and his perfect girlfriend? Pretend it didn't bother her to see her ring on someone else's finger? Because all of this pretending was _really_ going to take its toll on her.

...

Once evening settled in, it started to rain. And then it started to rain harder, and it didn't let up. Michael didn't want his mom out driving in that, even though she assured him it was just a short distance to the hotel. So he made her stay, at least until it let up. The rain eventually turned into a full-on storm, and that storm messed with their cable, so they were left with only a few channels where the signal was strong enough to actually show anything.

Michael wasn't even sure what they were watching. Some old-fashioned movie he didn't really give a rat's ass about, but his mom seemed to be enjoying it enough. Tina thought it was boring, though, so she went and laid on his bed and ended up falling asleep pretty quickly. Michael gave his mom the couch, just so she could nod off, too, if she wanted to, but she stayed awake. He sat with Sarah on the floor, and eventually, she put her head down on his lap and fell asleep. His legs were numb now, but he wasn't going to move, because he wanted her to keep sleeping.

During the commercial break, he craned his neck back and quietly asked his mom, "So are you and Teenie back on good terms now?"

"We're making progress," his mom replied. "It's been better since Christmas. I've been trying to have a more open mind about Nicholas, and I think she appreciates that."

Michael nodded, understanding how that _could_ be a good thing, knowing that he was going to have to do the same. But he still didn't have to like it. "You're not gonna let him move in, are you?" he asked, hoping she wasn't going to have _that_ much of an open mind.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time I let someone move in," she reminded him, smiling.

Maria hadn't been his girlfriend, though, not right away. And she'd been desperate. "That was different."

"Yeah, it was," she agreed. "Although, I have to say, I'm surprised she even _wanted_ to stay with us. We were a pretty dysfunctional family sometimes."

"Not always," Michael muttered, thinking about those pictures he'd glimpsed today. "Not until I came along."

His mother frowned and reached down to squeeze his shoulder gently. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" he grunted. "Proof's in the pictures. You guys used to love each other. I messed that up."

"You didn't mess anything up," she assured him. "You and Tina are the best things that have ever happened to me. Don't ever forget that."

As nice as that was to imagine . . . he doubted it was true. His poor mom had gone through a lot of stress and grief because of him, because of all his wild antics in high school. And even if he somehow _was_ the best thing that had ever happened to her, did it really matter when he was the worst thing that had happened to his dad?

"You know what?" she said, her voice taking on that loving, compassionate tone mothers were so good at. "If your dad was still alive, I think he'd be proud of you."

Michael almost laughed at that. "Really?" That sounded a little too wishful thinking for him.

"Oh, yes," she insisted confidently. "You've taken the path in life he always wanted to take. And now look at you. You've grown up. You're a good man."

 _Am I?_ he wondered, looking down at the sleeping girl in his lap. She thought he was good. In fact, she, like his mom, thought he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. But what if she was wrong? What if he disappointed her the same way he'd disappointed his dad? What if she ended up resenting him the same way?

"Sometimes I don't think I'm good enough," he confessed, his voice merely a whisper. He didn't even have to glance back at his mom to know she had a concerned look on her face now, to know that it bothered her to hear him say that. But he had to say it, because it was true, and nobody else was saying it to him.

He carefully stroked Sarah's hair as she slept, feeling like he didn't even deserve to. And she just kept sleeping peacefully, unaware of just how wide awake he was.

...

Michael got a taste of just how dominating his and Sarah's impending nuptials were at breakfast the next morning. They took his mom and sister out to YellowBrix, and while they were there, the wedding completely took over the entire conversation. It was all his mom wanted to talk about, and Sarah was more than happy to go along with it. She showed Krista all sorts of things on Pinterest, things Michael couldn't care less about. Like floral arrangements. Who the hell gave two shits about floral arrangements? Only girls, apparently, because his mom had marked a few in a bridal magazine, which she just _happened_ to bring along with her.

Michael sat across from Tina while his mom and girlfriend gabbed on one side of the table. Tina was on her phone, and Michael just assumed she was texting Nicholas. But when his own phone vibrated, he was glad to see a message from his sister. _i'm bored_ , it read.

He smirked and sent back, _me too._ She laughed a little when she got it. Even if it was just a simple text, it felt nice for the two of them to _finally_ be on the same page about something again.

Once the wedding talk ceased, it actually wasn't a bad breakfast. His mom asked how classes had been going this semester, and he gave her the abridged version . . . also known as the version that didn't include the whole Billy/suspension fiasco.

After breakfast, they drove back to campus, and Sarah insisted they come inside and stay a little longer. The wedding talk started up again, and Michael pretended to be engrossed in the NFL pre-show so he didn't have to take part in it.

Around noon, Tina was clearly starting to get impatient, so it was time to go. Michael and Sarah walked them out into the parking lot, and while Sarah said goodbye to Tina, Michael gave his mom a hug.

"Oh, it was good seeing you," she said. "I hope we didn't disrupt your weekend too much."

"No," he assured her, "we didn't have anything going on." Sure, there had been a party last night he'd maybe wanted to go to, but it probably would have been lame anyway. Besides, he wasn't really in a partying mood.

"Well, it was fun," she said.

"Yeah." He was exhausted and sore from having slept on the floor last night—the storm never had let up—so he'd definitely be down for a nap once they were gone. But it hadn't been the worst weekend ever. "Thanks again for the check."

"Thanks again for the daughter-in-law," she returned. "Or future daughter-in-law, I should say."

"Hmm." He tried to smile, but it didn't really turn out.

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking him up and down intently, almost as if she were studying him, and then out of nowhere, she asked, "Are you okay?"

 _Do I not look okay?_ he wondered. He'd really been trying his hardest to look okay. "Why wouldn't I be?" he questioned back.

"I don't know. You just seem . . ." She trailed off, still staring at him, and shook her head.

"Mom, let's go!" Tina called as she lumbered towards the car with one hand on her stomach. "I told Nicholas I'd be home an hour ago."

Krista sighed. "I guess that's my cue."

 _Thank God,_ Michael thought. Clearly his mom knew something was up with him, and he needed her gone before she got any more suspicious.

"Come here," she said, grabbing his face in her hands, pulling it down so she could kiss his cheek. "I love you, Michael."

"Love you, too," he echoed. "Drive safe."

"Bye." She smiled at him, that proud kind of smile he'd only really gotten to see in recent years, and then headed for the car. She stopped and gave Sarah a hug on the way, and then when Tina started honking the horn insistently, she said, "Alright, alright!" and got in the driver's seat.

Sarah came to stand beside Michael on the sidewalk and coiled her fingers around his arm, scooting in close. "Bye!" she called, waving as they drove away. Michael managed a wave, too, but that was about it. Once they pulled out of the parking lot and turned the corner, driving out of sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully they hadn't stayed longer, because if they had, he was sure they would have realized something was wrong.

...

Tina giggled when Nicholas sent her a dirty text. Her mom wasn't a stickler about monitoring her cell phone or anything, but just in case, she was going to have to delete that one. Totally inappropriate, even though she loved every word of it.

"How'd your brother seem to you?" her mother suddenly inquired.

"What?" Tina glanced up and saw that they were stopped at a red light, about to turn onto the highway that led out of town. How long had her mom been talking? She hadn't been listening.

"Michael. Did he seem like his usual self?" her mom asked. She sounded concerned.

"Pretty much," Tina replied. "Seemed find to me." Sure, the whole ring thing was a little suspect, but her mom hadn't recognized it, so there was no need to clue her in.

"Because I thought he was quiet," Krista continued on, making a left turn when the light turned green. "I don't know. Something seemed off."

"You think?" He definitely hadn't been a major chatterbox, but what guy was when it came to wedding stuff? That was totally a girl's domain.

"I just hope he's not overwhelmed by all of this," her mother went on. "Marriage is a big deal. I hope he's ready for it."

"Oh, he's ready," Tina assured her. "Trust me." If he wasn't, then why would he have popped the question in the first place? Still, it didn't hurt to give her mother some _extra_ reassurance. "In fact, when we went out for a walk yesterday, all he could talk about is how he's so in love with Sarah and he can't wait to marry her. He's really excited." She figured there was no harm in exaggerating it, because even if Michael hadn't shown it on the outside, that had to be how he was feeling on the inside. Right?

"Oh, good," her mom said. She loosened her grip on the steering wheel, and her entire posture relaxed. "Good. I feel better hearing that."

Then that was mission accomplished as far as Tina was concerned. Even though her mom didn't think she cared about her much anymore, the fact of the matter was that she was the only parent she had left; and if a little white lie put her mind at ease, Tina was happy to tell it. After all, there was no need for her to stress and worry about something when there was probably nothing to worry about.

...

Maria didn't want to give Max the wrong idea that evening, so she didn't lie too close to him, didn't make any move to touch him. It wasn't that he didn't look good lying there with his shirt off, because he did. Max had always been in shape, and the fact that his job involved plenty of physical labor had only accentuated his muscles. But she just wasn't in the mood for sex, and thankfully, it seemed, neither was he. He didn't seem all that tired, either, though, because he lay awake with her for well over half an hour, talking, saying some things that genuinely did make her laugh. And it felt good to laugh again after so many days of being miserable.

But eventually, he got serious. "So . . ." he said, pausing then to clear this throat. "Are you ever gonna tell me?"

"Tell you what?" she asked.

In the darkness of their bedroom, she heard him look over at her more than she actually saw it. "How you feel about Michael and Sarah getting engaged."

"Oh." She was taken aback. "That." No, she really wasn't. She wasn't going to tell him how much it hurt inside to think about it even for a split-second. Because that would hurt _him,_ too. "I'm fine," she lied easily. It wasn't that hard to put on her happy face and pretend it didn't bother her, because at this point, she was getting used to it. She was . . . resigned to it, even. This was just how it was going to have to be.

"Because I wouldn't blame you if you felt . . . something," he said.

Luckily they were shrouded in darkness, because she didn't want him to see the tears that sprang to her eyes. "What would I feel?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. Just upset, maybe."

It touched her that he was basically giving her permission to be sad, mad, probably even jealous. But even though she was all those things, and even though he would have tried his best to help her through it, she didn't want him to know about it. "It doesn't upset me," she said, scooting a little closer now. It really shouldn't have upset her, not when she had a guy like him to come home to.

"But he's your ex," Max pointed out, "so it's gotta be weird."

"Well . . . maybe a little," she acknowledged, downplaying it for his benefit. "But I'm actually really, really happy for them." The more often she said that, the more convincing it started to sound.

"Hmm." He pulled up the covers a bit, then pondered, "I wonder if Michael will be happy for us when we get engaged someday."

"Oh, I wouldn't count on it." That was the difference between them, wasn't it? She would conceal her true feelings about all of this until the day she died if she had to, but Michael wouldn't hesitate to let his be known. Maybe it had everything to do with his hatred for Max, or maybe it was more about his self-control. Or rather lack of it.

"So when do you want me to ask you?" Max said suddenly.

"Ask me?" she echoed. "Ask me what?"

"To get married."

She started having mental flashbacks to Christmas time, when she'd really started to believe that he would propose. She hadn't been ready for it then, and she still wasn't ready for it now. "Uh, I don't know," she responded unsurely. "I don't exactly have a timeline drawn up."

"This year?" he questioned. "Next year?"

 _Don't ask me this, Max,_ she thought. She didn't want to be put on the spot like this, because she didn't know what to say. She decided it was best to just sort of sidestep the whole question altogether. "Let's let Michael and Sarah get married first," she suggested. "We don't wanna steal their thunder."

"Right," he said, laughing a little. Much to her relief, he didn't push it any further. She heard him yawn, and then he looked over at the bedside clock. "It's late," he remarked. "I better get to sleep."

"Yeah," she agreed. Sleep sounded perfect right about now.

"Goodnight," he said, rolling over onto his side. For some reason, he always slept with his back to her.

"Night," she returned quietly, glad that she'd managed to joke her way out of a serious conversation. This time, at least. But there would be a next time, and eventually there would be the real thing. Max would ask her to marry him, and he would expect her answer to be yes. And if Michael and Sarah were already man and wife at that point . . . well, then it probably would be.


	55. Chapter 55

Valentine's Day came and went with little fanfare. It was one of Sarah's favorite holidays, but Michael personally couldn't stand it. He forced himself to dislike it a little less, just because she got so into it. Every year she put on this ridiculous Cupid costume and somehow managed to make it look sexy, and right when he woke up, she'd shoot him with plastic arrows. Really, the whole thing was pretty damn amusing, but this year, he just couldn't muster up the same enthusiasm for it.

He already had the day off class, though, so he took the day off work to spend it with her. She had class, but once that was over, she came straight home. Even though she had homework, she put it off just to spend time with him. Kissing was a big theme that afternoon, but almost as if she were drawing it out on purpose, she didn't let it go any further than that.

He took her out to the movies that evening. Tess and Kyle were supposed to show up and do the whole double date thing, but they cancelled at last minute. Michael assumed that meant they were either staying in and having sex, or Tess felt nauseous and couldn't leave the house. For his best friend's sake, he hoped it was the former. Whatever the reason, he ended up watching a two hour romantic comedy with Sarah by his side, and it just happened to be one of those movies that ended in a wedding. The couple got their happily ever after, and Sarah even teared up a little.

That night, upon returning home, they kissed some more, and this time she didn't hold back, making it obvious that she wanted to go further. She wore some new lingerie for him, and appropriately, it was red. He hesitated a little more than he usually did before taking it off of her, but eventually he gave in and did it. They had sex, and she fell asleep shortly after.

He lay awake next to her, watching her, knowing this wouldn't be so bad. Waking up every morning next to Sarah Nguyen, falling asleep next to her every single night? Most guys would never be so lucky. She was like a one-of-a-kind girl, and for some reason, she wanted him.

For _some_ reason.

Even though he was right there next to her, his mind was somewhere else, so he reached across her small body and picked his phone up off the nightstand. He covered the bright screen with his hand so as not to disturb her while she slept, then sent a quick text to Maria. He just had to know something.

 _do you hate me?_

He sent it, hoping for a quick response, but he didn't get one. In fact, half an hour passed, and she still didn't text him back. Then another half hour, and another one. And that whole time, he lay there like an idiot, clutching his phone in his hand, barely able to stay awake but unwilling to fall asleep until he heard back.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but in reality was only two hours, he got a response. At 2:00 a.m., she sent him back exactly what he'd been hoping for.

 _no_

He stared at the one word on the screen, letting it resonate. Once, out of pure anger and frustration, he'd told her he hated her, and that couldn't have been further from the truth. But just knowing that she wasn't even going to _pretend_ to hate him . . . it was a major relief. And that wasn't good. Because even though he'd asked her a completely different question than he'd asked his girlfriend ten days ago, her no felt a hell of a lot better than Sarah's yes had.

...

It wasn't easy to go to Music Appreciation on Tuesday and sit next to Michael. But Maria did it, and she did it wordlessly. It wasn't like she could just stop going to class, or stop seeing him. Or thinking about him. No, she _definitely_ couldn't stop thinking about him.

He seemed to respect the fact that she didn't want to talk, so he just sat quietly with her while the professor rambled. Midway through the lecture, though, he reached over and set something down on her lap. A tiny piece of candy, one of those hearts with the words on it. This one was yellow and said _Miss You._ Something about it was just as endearing as it was desperate.

She could feel his eyes on her, though she refused to look at him. She couldn't. Something would just break inside of her, and she would start crying. So she closed her hand over the little candy heart and put it in her pocket instead.

"I got a lot more where that came from," he promised, and for some reason, she couldn't help but smile.

After class, he told her he had something for her, and even though she could have very easily gone home, or made up some excuse to detach herself from him, she followed him back to Vidorra, all the way up to his apartment. She almost felt as though she were trespassing when she walked through the door, because deep down, she knew she shouldn't be there. At least not when it was just the two of them.

"So why am I here, exactly?" she asked.

"Because . . ." He set his backpack down and walked over to the refrigerator, reaching up top to grab a small box. "I bought, like, twenty boxes of these stupid things and collected all the _Miss You_ 's. Just for you." He reopened the box and instructed, "Hold out your hand."

Reluctantly, she put her left palm up and let him dump all the hearts into them. There must have been two dozen of them at least, all of them varying in color but with the same two words. "I don't even know what to say," she murmured. As far as Valentine's Day gifts went, it was definitely unique.

"I miss you, too?" he suggested. "Just an idea."

She moved the tiny candy hearts around in her hand, sifting through them. One of them didn't say _Miss You._ It said _Love You._ But surely that had just been an accident.

"You should keep these," she told him, trying to hand them back.

"No, they're for you," he insisted.

She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but at the same time . . . she just felt like she should give them back. "I'm actually not really a fan of them," she said.

The hopeful expression in his eyes faded for a moment. "Oh." He slid them off her hand and into his, carefully pouring them back in the small box. "More for me then."

"For you _and_ Sarah," she added. Couldn't forget about her.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Me and Sarah."

 _Sarah . . . Guerin,_ Maria thought, just testing it out in her mind. That was going to take some getting used to, but she could handle it. "Okay, listen . . ." she said, trying to cut to the chase of why she was even there. The candy hearts were a nice gesture and all, but they both knew they needed to talk. "I don't know why you felt compelled to text me at midnight last night, or why I felt compelled to respond at 2:00 a.m. But I want you to know that I meant what I said. I don't hate you." She looked down at the floor, mumbling, "I could never hate you."

He hesitated for a moment, then bravely asked, "Why not?"

She shrugged helplessly, actually wishing that she could. "I just can't. That still doesn't mean I'm glad you reused my ring. That's probably gonna hurt for a while. But I think . . . it's starting to hurt a little less." Her bottom lip trembled with emotion, and she fought to contain it. No crying today. She had to be strong. She knew exactly what she wanted to say. She'd had a week to think about it.

"You know, I keep telling people how happy I am for you and Sarah, and I've been trying to figure out why it's so easy for me to say," she told him. "And then I realized . . . maybe I _am_ happy." It felt weird to even consider the possibility, but . . . it _could_ happen, couldn't it? It didn't just have to be a lie. "I mean, why wouldn't I be? This is what I've always wanted for you. For you to go out there in the world and find someone who makes your life better without making it complicated. And I think Sarah's that person for you." She knew she would never be that person, no matter how much she wanted to be. She'd let him go for that very reason. "You guys are gonna be together for the rest of your lives. You're gonna get married and start a family." She pictured him with Dylan, and she had to smile to keep from crying. "And I know that's what you've always wanted."

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to touch hers. "Maria . . ."

She pulled her hand away, but she couldn't find the resolve to take a step back. "And you're gonna have it. So I _am_ happy for you. And Sarah." She swallowed her pride and said, "You guys are meant to be together," ignoring that stab of pain in her heart when the words came out. "But you have to do me a favor, okay? You have to stop worrying about me so much and just think about her." Their friendship, if it could even be called that, was just feeling a bit too intimate lately, and she didn't want to risk anything.

"What if I can't do that?" he asked.

She blinked back tears, determined to put that wall up between them, because it was needed. "Well, you have to." He'd made a commitment to Sarah. Even though he hadn't said the vows yet, he'd made it a long time ago, and she didn't want him to question it. She didn't want him to text her in the middle of the night, or save dozens of candy hearts for her. She didn't want him to look at her the way he was looking at her right now, because it made it so hard to resist him.

"I have to go," she told him, quickly backing towards the door. She ran right into it, the handle pressing against her back, right where that tattoo of his initials was. She fumbled for it, opened it, and slipped out into the hall. When she was sure he wasn't going to come out and tell her to stay, she took the lone candy heart out of her pocket and stared down at the two words etched onto its surface. She missed him now, even though she saw him almost every single day. So that meant, when he and Sarah _did_ get married, she would just miss him even more.

...

When a pair of hands covered her eyes, Liz startled for a second. But just for a second, because she recognized those hands right away.

"Boo," she heard Max say. He uncovered her eyes.

"Hey, you," she said, craning her neck back to look up at him, delighted to see him. "Wrong holiday."

"I know." He sat down beside her on the park bench and asked, "So how was your Valentine's Day? You do anything?"

"No, just stayed in," she replied. She'd thought about going out, but . . . what was the point? All she would have done was spent her entire evening thinking about him. "What about you?"

"Same," he answered. "We watched a movie, drank some champagne. It was nice."

 _I bet it was,_ Liz thought enviously. Sometimes she wondered if Maria took all her evenings with Max for granted. Had Valentine's Day just been another ordinary night for her? Or had she actually taken a moment to realize how lucky she was?

"What's she doing?" Max asked, motioning towards Scarlet, who was running all around the park, getting her new dress dirty.

"Chasing butterflies," Liz informed him. "Either that or a squirrel." She really hoped it was butterflies, though, because squirrels were filthy.

"Look at her go." Max immediately took out his phone and called out to her to get her attention. "Hey, Scarlet!"

She looked over when she heard her name, and when he smiled and waved at her, she did the same thing. But even her daddy couldn't distract her from the all-important butterflies, and seconds later, she was absorbed in trying to catch them again.

"She loves you," Liz said. There was a definite sparkle in Scarlet's eyes whenever Max was around. No one else could duplicate it.

"Hmm." Max watched her adoringly and took a few photos on his phone. "You think _she'll_ play basketball someday?" he asked. " 'cause I've come to the conclusion Dylan's not going to."

"Really? But I thought he was getting better." She'd seen enough games this year to know that Dylan definitely wasn't _bad_ ; he was just . . . better at football, which Liz knew irritated Max to no end.

"He's one of the best on the team," Max acknowledged, "but that's not saying much." He sighed and put his phone away in his pocket. "I'm just glad the season's almost over."

"When's your last game?" she asked.

"Tomorrow. Thank God."

"Oh, I'm sorry it hasn't gone better," she sympathized. Max had really given it his all, but there was only so much he could do. "Are you gonna coach it again next year?"

"I don't know," Max mumbled, his eyes still on Scarlet. "Probably not if Dylan doesn't play." He shrugged. "We'll see. Actually, I'm kinda hopin' I can get him to try baseball this summer."

"Yeah?" It wasn't a bad idea, but it was a little . . . transparent. "But what if he just wants to play football?"

"Then that's fine, I guess."

Liz gave him a look. "Max." He didn't have to hide anything with her. If all that she could be was his friend, she was determined to be a damn good one and be the kind of person he could open up to. "Are you feeling insecure?"

"No," he replied quickly, too quickly, before changing his tune. "Maybe. It's just . . . every time I see him pick up a football or hear him talk about it, I remember how much time I missed out on with him. And it's my own fault."

"Well, at least you're not missing out on time with Scarlet," she pointed out. Max could have disappointed her and their daughter and everyone if he hadn't learned from his mistakes, if he'd ignored her these past few years. But he hadn't, not once since the day she'd been born.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna make the same mistakes with her," he vowed, his face breaking into a smile as he continued to watch her play. "Look at her go. She's got some speed."

"Then she must've gotten that from you, because we both know she didn't get any athleticism from me," Liz said.

"Hopefully she got your brains, though."

"Hopefully," Liz agreed, laughing a little. Though truthfully, there was nothing wrong with Max's brains. He was still one of the smartest people she knew, even if he wasn't working a job that gave him the chance to show it.

...

Even though he could have gone home after wrapping up his afternoon with Jake on Thursday, Michael opted to stay at the school. It was the last basketball game of the boys' season, and even though Michael wasn't a fan of the game . . . he wanted to go. He called Sarah and asked her to meet him up there, and she did.

It wasn't exactly crowded—the football games had definitely drawn more fans—but for a _youth_ basketball game, the turnout wasn't bad. Maybe it was just because it was the last game of the season, or maybe it was because the opponent was supposedly even worse. For the kids' sake, Michael hoped they won. But if they didn't and Max's coaching season resulted in a zero-win record . . . well, that would be fantastic.

"God, I hate basketball," Michael groaned, navigating his way back from the concession stand.

"Then why are we here?" Sarah asked, following along behind him.

"Well, do we really have anything better to do?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah. Studying. Sex."

Michael stopped for a moment and acknowledged, "Okay, true, but we can do that when we get home."

"Which one?"

"Both." He climbed up onto the bleachers, holding out his hand to help her up.

"Maybe we could do both at the same time," she suggested.

He blinked, and in an instant, he flashed back to his old room, messing around in his bed with Maria while attempting to study chemistry. There had been _plenty_ of chemistry, that was for sure. He still remembered every damn element on that periodic table, only because he remembered touching and kissing every inch of her body.

He blinked again, and the sights and sounds of the gymnasium settled back in. "I don't think that's possible," he told Sarah. He made his way halfway up the bleachers and moved in towards the center so he'd have a good spot to watch the game. She sat down beside him and held out a cheese-drenched nacho chip. He shook his head to decline.

"You just wanna watch Dylan play, don't you?" she said.

"And Luke," he added quickly, "and the other kids from the football team."

"But mostly Dylan," she said knowingly. "It's okay, you know. I know you still care about him."

 _He's not the only one I still care about,_ Michael thought, feeling as if his eyes were drawn to the left side of the gym as Maria came in. Even just wearing jeans and a beige sweater, she looked like a million bucks. "There's Maria," he said, just so it wouldn't look like he was staring.

Sarah glanced over to and then quickly set her nachos aside. "I'm gonna go talk to her," she announced, springing to her feet. She scampered down the bleachers, and Michael actually felt a little more relaxed when she was gone. Because then he could stare as much as he wanted to.

...

Maria knew she was cutting it close. The boys were already warming up, and there were only seven minutes left on the play clock until the game started. The truth was, it had been an effort to show up there. Dylan wasn't excited about playing, Max wasn't excited about coaching, and she wasn't all that excited about watching. Hopefully they could just skip basketball season next year.

She scanned the gym, looking for someone she knew to sit by. She didn't have to look long, though, because Sarah came bounding her way like an excited puppy dog.

"Maria, hey."

 _What's she doing here?_ Maria wondered. If she was there, then Michael had to be, because there was no way Sarah would just come alone. "Hey," she returned, trying to smile, trying to _not_ look down at that ring. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah, Michael and I came to watch the last game," Sarah chirped.

"Oh, well, brace yourself. They haven't won once."

Ever the optimist, Sarah declared, "Then that's bound to change today."

"Let's hope so," Maria said, crossing her fingers. Max was going to be majorly bummed out if the whole season was a bust. After the way the football season had ended, he'd been thinking they might be able to win a whole slew of games.

"Hey, so do you wanna sit by us?" Sarah offered. She turned around and pointed out where Michael was at on the bleachers. "Plenty of room."

There _was_ plenty of room, but Maria knew from experience that if she sat down next to him, it would feel _very_ close. Still, she couldn't very well turn down the offer without looking . . . suspicious. "Sure," she said, figuring she could just suck it up. As long as he and Sarah weren't all lovey-dovey, she could handle it.

"Great!" Sarah exclaimed. "Do you mind if we . . ." She motioned over her shoulder to the exit that led out towards the concession stand. "Can we go out there for a minute first, though?"

Instantly, Maria felt worried. "Yeah, that's fine," she said, trying to at least sound calm, though. But inside, she wondered if Sarah knew something. Like maybe something about that ring? Had Michael told her the truth about it?

Maria followed Sarah out of the gym, glancing up at Michael on her way out. He looked at her curiously, like he wondered where they were going, like he wanted to follow but wouldn't.

Since it was noisy near the concession stand, Maria and Sarah ducked into one of the hallways instead. It had to be the third grade one, because these lockers were larger and had actual locks on them. The kids Dylan's age had smaller lockers that didn't really lock.

"Hey, so listen . . . I just wanna apologize," Sarah started in.

Of all the things Maria had been expecting she might hear come out of Sarah's mouth, that hadn't been one of them. "For what?" she asked. What could the world's most perfect girl have possibly done wrong?

"For the way I broke the news to you about the engagement," Sarah clarified. "I was really insensitive."

Maria had tried to block out that whole moment in time, but honestly, it had nothing to do with Sarah. The girl deserved to be happy. Elated, even. What girl wouldn't be in that situation? "No, you were fine," Maria assured her. "I don't—I don't have feelings for Michael anymore, so . . ."

"No, I know, but still . . . you guys have a history," Sarah said, "and I should have been more respectful of that."

"Well, you're right, we do have a history," Maria admitted. "But that's the past, and you're his future, clearly." It was a bitter pill to swallow, but there was nothing she could do about it. And in a way, there was nothing she even _wanted_ to do about it, because Michael's future with Sarah seemed to be very, _very_ bright. "Don't worry about it, okay? You deserve to be on cloud nine right now. Don't feel like you have to tone things down on my behalf."

"Are you sure?" Sarah kept fretting.

"Yes."

"So we're good?"

"We're good." She remembered how negatively people had reacted to her and Michael's engagement, how skeptical and downright rude they'd been. She didn't want Sarah to have to deal with anything so hostile.

"Oh, thank God," Sarah breathed out. "I'm really glad to hear that."

Maria smiled. _Good,_ she thought. A girl deserved to feel glad about getting engaged. It wasn't the kind of thing that should come with any negativity attached.

"So, um, with that in mind then," Sarah said, "I want to officially invite you to the wedding."

"Oh, yeah?" Maria kept smiling, but inside, her heart broke a little more. "And when is that gonna be?"

"Well, nothing's set in stone yet, but we were looking at early August," Sarah responded. Her whole face was lighting up now, and that glow returned. The glow of being a girl in love. "That way we can squeeze in a honeymoon before the start of senior year."

"Right," Maria said, trying not to dwell too much on the word _honeymoon_. "That, um . . . that doesn't really give you a whole lot of time to plan it, though." _Or a lot of time for me to adjust to it,_ she thought. In her mind, she'd just assumed that it would happen a year from now or something, and by then, she'd be more at peace with it.

"I could do it, I think," Sarah said confidently. "I've already got a lot of ideas."

"I'm sure you do," Maria said. For some reason, Sarah struck her as the type of girl who had started putting together a whole binder full of ideas back when she'd been a kid. "Knowing Michael, though, he probably doesn't care about anything but the food."

"Yeah, that's his main priority," Sarah confirmed, chuckling. "And of course mine's, like, my dress, and my bridesmaids' dresses. I don't want them to look tacky."

"Yeah." The mention of bridesmaids made Maria nervous, because she _really_ didn't want to be thrust into that role. "So Tess is gonna be your maid of honor, I assume," she said, hoping that there were a whole slew of other girls who would take part in the ceremony.

"Yep, and Kyle's obviously gonna be the best man," Sarah said. "Actually . . ."

 _Oh, shit,_ Maria thought. _Here it comes._

"Okay, feel free to say no, but I kinda thought . . ."

She felt the question coming on and knew she was powerless to stop it.

"Well, it might be kind of nice if Dylan was the ring-bearer," Sarah said. "I mean, Michael just adores him."

 _Dylan,_ Maria registered. _Ring-bearer?_ It was a step down from the bridesmaid question, which was a bit of a relief, but still . . . it was a big commitment.

"Uh, yeah, that would be . . ." _Just go with it,_ she told herself. If she made a big deal out of it, it would just be worse. "That'd be good. He could do that."

"Really? Because if you don't want him to . . ."

"No, um . . . it's fine." Sarah was right; Michael _did_ adore Dylan. Having him there, having him be a part of that day . . . it might be poignant. "I mean, I'll run it by Max, but it should be fine."

"Oh my god, thank you, Maria," Sarah said in a rush. "You have no idea how much that's gonna mean to him."

 _No, I do,_ Maria thought, smiling shakily. She'd watched Michael and Dylan's bond develop from day one. She knew exactly how much it would mean to him, because it still meant that much to her.

...

Ambient music was practically enough to put Maria asleep. She liked it, but it was so relaxing, almost too relaxing. She sat in Music Appreciation the next day, waiting for the class to start, her iPod earbuds blocking out all other sounds. She was desperately trying to get herself into a calm headspace so that her interactions with Michael today could just be . . . nice. Not an emotional roller coaster.

Unfortunately, her plans were shot when he yanked the earbuds out of her ears. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?" he grumbled, bending down behind her seat so that his breath was right there on her ear.

"What?" What could she have possibly done to piss him off just by sitting there?

"Dylan's gonna be in my wedding now?" he spat incredulously.

 _Oh, great,_ she thought. So apparently he and Sarah had talked about this after that abysmal game last night, and he clearly wasn't taking it well. "Possibly," she said. "Is that a problem for you?"

"Yeah."

"Seriously?" She'd been expecting . . . gratitude, maybe? Some kind of thanks over the fact that she was willing to let her son be a part of the most important day of his life. "Why?"

His grip tightened on the back of her chair. "Because he was supposed to be the ring-bearer in _our_ wedding, Maria."

She grunted. "Yeah, well, that was supposed to be the ring on _my_ finger, but . . ." She trailed off, knowing there was no need to get into all that again.

He remained bent down close to her, _so_ close, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. The professor came into the classroom, and everyone else started to take their seats, but not Michael. "Let's get the hell out of here," he suggested, sounding like he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Common sense told her to stay—she'd missed _way_ too much class lately. But her gut just wanted to follow him.

Against her better judgment, she left the classroom with him right as their professor was beginning to teach. He was silent and tense as they walked outside, and it took her a while to say anything, too. "You know, I think your GPA's gonna take a hit this semester," she predicted.

"I don't care," he mumbled.

"You don't?"

"No. There's more important stuff goin' on."

She moved ahead of him and shook her head, angry at him for _being_ so angry. "Okay, look, don't be mad at Sarah, okay? She was just trying to do something nice for you."

"I'm not mad at her," he informed her. "I'm mad at you."

She whirled around, completely confused. "What? Me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because you didn't even stop and _think_ that maybe I didn't want Dylan involved." He pointed an accusatory finger at her and growled, "You should've known."

She huffed, throwing her arms up in the air. "Okay, so tell Sarah that." This was something for them to work out, and whatever decision they came to, whether it was Dylan being in the wedding or not, she'd be fine with it.

"What am I supposed to say?" he bellowed.

"Exactly what you just said to me!"

"And when she asks me why? Then what am I supposed to say, huh?"

"The truth."

"The truth?" he echoed loudly. "The truth is, whenever I look at him, I still see my son, Maria. How am I supposed to tell that to my girlfriend?"

Hearing him say that . . . it was as painful as it was touching. It felt like he'd just put his hand around her heart and squeezed. Deep down, she'd always known that Michael would think of Dylan as a son, and likewise, Dylan would probably always think of Michael as his dad. Or at least one of them. But knowing it and hearing it were two different things.

He sat down on the steps outside Lecuona Hall, looking completely defeated and nowhere near as happy as Sarah had been at the game last night. Even though she would have liked to be stern and maybe even standoffish with him, Maria couldn't help but feel bad. She understood now with perfect clarity why he didn't want Dylan involved in his wedding, and she probably should have understood it sooner.

"I'll come up with an excuse then," she told him, sitting down beside him, "to get him out of it."

"Yeah, well, don't be surprised if she ends up asking you to be a bridesmaid," he muttered.

"What?" She thought she'd dodged that bullet yesterday.

"She's got a list. Your name's on it."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. 'cause we're all such good _friends_." He laughed bitterly, angrily, and part of her wondered if he was maybe even a little mad at Sarah, like maybe he hoped she would understand that he didn't want either her or Dylan involved. He'd never admit it even if he was, but . . . was it wrong for her to hope that that was the case?

"I'm always complicating things for you," she said, shaking her head sadly.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is," she insisted. "Look at you. You're a mess."

Momentarily, he smirked. "A hot mess."

He could joke about it if that made him feel better, but to her, it was a serious thing. It had been years— _years_ —since they'd been together. With all that time having passed, this shouldn't have been so difficult. Any of it. The ring and the ring-bearer and the bridesmaids . . . it should have just been easy. It should have been exciting for him and not so devastating for her, but so far, all it had been was dramatic. And Sarah was so blissfully unaware.

"So do you really still think of Dylan as your son?" Maria asked, figuring she'd give him the opportunity to backtrack, maybe just lie and claim that he'd been exaggerating. But instead, he owned up to it.

"I always will, Maria," he mumbled, hanging his head.

Then she couldn't help but wonder . . . if he would always feel like Dylan's dad, what kind of other things would he always feel?


	56. Chapter 56

When Michael suggested a guys' night out, Kyle thought it would be fun. They invited, Steve, Fly, and Monk and headed out to The Cave, and Kyle assumed he'd spend his night watching Fly try to hit on girls, watching Monk possibly hit on a few men, and getting some solid new dad advice from Steve. Nothing too crazy, but nothing too boring, either. Michael, apparently, had other plans.

Kyle barely even saw his friend, because he headed straight to the bar. He ordered up several shots and downed them all, and he just kept asking for more and more. Kyle sat with his friends at their table, watching, wondering.

Steve noticed it, too, because when Fly and Monk got up and left the table, he finally spoke up and said, "Hey, Mike's hittin' it pretty hard tonight, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Kyle agreed. The fact that he wasn't the only one to notice it set off alarms in his head, and he knew he should probably go intervene. "I'm gonna go check on him," he said, getting up from the table. He made his way over to the bar and squeezed in next to his friend. "Hey, man," he said. "You're really knockin' 'em back."

"It's a talent," Michael boasted, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. He slid his glass back across the counter and told the bartender, "Another." The bartender gave him a skeptical look and reluctantly poured him another glass.

"Can't remember the last time I saw you drink this much," Kyle remarked. He had plenty of memories of Michael getting completely wasted over the years, but none of those memories were recent.

Michael grinned and declared, "It's just like ridin' a bike," as he brought the shot glass back up to his lips. He cringed as he threw his entire head back and downed it all in one gulp.

 _No, this isn't good,_ Kyle thought. Michael used to drink like this when he was pissed about something, or just upset in general. So what was he upset about?

Rather than cutting straight to that question, Kyle inquired, "What're you drinkin'?" The stronger the drinker, the bigger the problem, most likely.

"I don't know, but it's . . ." Michael set his glass back down on the counter and burped. "It's . . ." He made a face and clutched his stomach with one hand. "Oh, Kyle, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Imagine that."

"Move, man." Michael barreled past him and ran for the exit. Kyle followed.

It wasn't pleasant to stand out on the sidewalk for the next three minutes, listening to Michael throw up. In fact, it was downright disgusting, but Kyle was used to it. Back in the day, Michael had thrown up in his truck countless times.

"Nice goin'," Kyle said sarcastically. Their supposedly fun night was pretty much done for now.

"Sorry," Michael apologized. He stayed hunched over with his hands on his knees for a few seconds, then straightened himself out and proclaimed, "Okay, I'm better now. Let's go." He started to head back inside, but Kyle grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Wait a minute, you're not gonna keep drinkin' are you? You're just gonna keep makin' yourself sick."

"Relax, Kyle," Michael said, his words already starting to blend together. "I got this. I'm a pro."

He headed back inside, and Kyle helplessly let him go. It used to be that he was stronger than Michael and could literally drag him away from a keg if he had to. But not anymore.

It only took ten more minutes and two more shots for Michael to do himself in. Once he got to the point where he could barely stand, he was tipsy enough that Steve could grab hold of one arm, Kyle could grab hold of the other, and together they could get him out to the car. Kyle drove him home and helped him up to his apartment, and then he and Sarah both helped him into bed.

"Wow," Sarah said in amazement, looking down at him as he lay on his side and drooled. "He's out, isn't he?"

"Yeah, let him sleep it off," Kyle suggested. "He's gonna be feelin' it in the morning, but . . ." He shrugged. Served him right. He should have known not to drink so much.

"Thanks for getting him home," Sarah said gratefully.

"No problem." Hell, it was just like old times. Which was . . . weird. And concerning. Kyle wondered if Sarah was concerned, too. If she was, she sure as hell wasn't showing it, which made him feel like he was obligated to ask, "So does he seem like he's doin' okay to you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Just in general. Does he seem like himself?"

"Well, yeah, sure," Sarah said, sounding like her usual optimistic self. "I mean, I think he's still trying to get his grades back up after that suspension. But other than that, I haven't really noticed anything different."

She hadn't? "Huh." This girl lived with him and loved him, so Kyle wanted to take her word for it. But he'd known Michael for longer than she had, and in some ways, he suspected he'd always know him better.

"Have you?" she questioned.

"Well, just tonight, you know," he said, even though it wasn't _just_ tonight that struck him as odd. "It was a little weird."

"It was guys' night, though," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but . . ." That didn't automatically equate to going out and getting trashed. "I haven't seen Michael drink like this since high school."

Sarah wrapped her arms around herself, looking down at her passed out boyfriend again. "I think he was just blowing off some steam," she rationalized.

 _But why?_ Kyle wanted to ask. People went out and blew off steam after really intense, emotionally taxing days. Was Michael having days like that? And if he was, how did Sarah not know about it?

He had plenty of concerns, and what she was saying wasn't resolving any of them. But there was no need to worry her, just in case it really _was_ nothing. "Yeah," he said. "You're probably right." He'd talk to Michael tomorrow, try to get some insight into what tonight's binge had really been about.

"I mean . . . has he said anything to you to make you think he's _not_ fine?" Sarah asked quietly.

Oh, he'd definitely said something. A little something about Maria DeLuca being the love of his life. Kyle hadn't forgotten about that. "No," he lied, just because it wasn't his place to reveal that to her. "He hasn't said anything."

...

 _Slowly waking up, Michael struggled to open his eyes. He felt so comfortable, like he could just lie in bed and sleep all day. Like he didn't want to move. Didn't want to be anywhere else._

 _He turned over onto his back, squinting against the sunlight that shone into the room. And the room . . . it wasn't one that he recognized. The bed, as comfortable as it was, didn't feel like one he'd slept in before. But it still felt like he was supposed to be there._

 _He looked to the side and saw a yellow mug on the bedside table that said_ #1 Dad _on it. And he knew it was his. That sense of unfamiliarity wore off, and it all just started to feel natural and normal._

" _Hey, you."_

 _He glanced to the doorway when he heard that voice, that one voice he would never forget._ Maria. _She stood there, leaning against the doorframe, her hips pushed out to one side. She had on a long-sleeved white button-down shirt, one of his. It was long enough on her that he couldn't tell if she had anything on underneath or not._

 _Instantly, he felt awake. "Hey."_

 _She swayed into the bedroom, a flirtatious grin on her beautiful face. "You look sexy in the morning," she said. "Has anyone ever told you that?"_

" _Everyone tells me that," he joked, reaching up to take hold of her left hand. He traced his thumb across her fingers, over her ring, and pulled her down into the bed with him. Her body melded into his right away, and like two pieces of the same puzzle, their mouths connected for a kiss. And not just a quick one, but a deep, prolonged one._

 _When he finally did pull away, he only did so to tell her, "I love you."_

 _She smiled happily at him. "I love you, too."_

 _He nuzzled his nose against hers, eliciting a giggle, and started to play with her hair._

 _From out in the hallway, there came an, "Ew! Are you guys kissing?"_

 _Maria moved off of him but curled up beside him, laughing lightly. Michael sat up a bit to see Dylan coming out of his bedroom, still dressed in his pajamas. "You don't have to watch," he told him._

" _That's gross, Dad," Dylan said, slipping back into his room._

 _Michael smiled._ Dad.

" _Are you gonna spend the day with him?" Maria asked._

" _I think so." There was a football in Dylan's room that needed to be thrown around. "And then I'm gonna spend the night with you."_

" _Sounds good to me." She stretched out, arching her back up off the bed, and his eyes traveled down to her stomach. He couldn't help but reach over, undo a few buttons on that shirt, and splay his hand against her flesh._

" _I can't wait 'til you get bigger," he said, imagining what it would be like to put his hand on her stomach six months from now._

" _I can," she said, putting her hand on top of his._

 _He linked their fingers together, squeezed her hand, then shifted down on the bed so that he could press a soft, tender kiss to his wife's stomach._

Michael awoke with a start. To a familiar room. To _his_ room. To the bed he slept in every night and woke up in every morning. To the bed he shared with Sarah.

He sat up too quickly and groaned as his head started to pound. He only had fuzzy memories of last night, but he'd had enough mornings like this to piece together exactly what had happened. Exactly what he'd _let_ happen.

So much alcohol. So many shots. Too many to count.

"Oh, shit," he swore, sprinting for the bathroom when he felt a wave of nausea. It was going to be one of these hangovers that affected him all day. He could tell.

It was never a fun experience to have to bend down over the toilet and release what felt like the _entire_ contents of your stomach, but it wasn't exactly an unfamiliar one, either. Michael didn't try to hold anything in, because he knew it was best to just get it all out. It was sick, and it was embarrassing when Sarah came into the bathroom and asked, "Rough night?"

He flushed the toilet quickly and got to his feet. "Fun night. Rough morning." He washed his hands off and said, "I'd kiss you right now, but . . ."

"No, I'd rather you not."

"Sorry." He didn't feel like a very good boyfriend in that moment. He felt like . . . like the kid he used to be in high school. And it never felt good to feel like that kid. "I know I'm not usually like this," he said, squirting some toothpaste onto his toothbrush. "I just lost track of how much I was drinkin', I guess."

She shrugged and said, "It happens. At least Kyle was there to bring you home."

"Just like old times," he mumbled, slipping his toothbrush under the sink's stream of water for a moment. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna make a weekly thing of this," he assured her, feeling like he just _had_ to assure her, given his history. Given his father's history.

"Good," she said quietly. She could have said something judgmental, or disappointed, but she didn't. She smiled at him in the mirror, then left the bathroom.

Michael stared at himself in the mirror, at his messy hair, disheveled clothes. Sarah wouldn't say it, but she must have been so turned off by him right now. Clearly the only girl who thought he looked sexy this morning was the girl in his dreams.

...

Needing to get some work done, Alex went to his office on Saturday. He graded, and then graded some more, and just when he thought he couldn't possibly do any more grading, he found some more things to grade. As a grad student, he wasn't granted the luxury of having TA's to assist him with any class he taught. If he wanted something done, it was all on him.

When he finally left, it was well into the afternoon. He swung by the student union to pick up something quick for lunch, and while he was waiting in line at the Subway station, he spotted Isabel in one of the designated study areas. She was sitting by herself, pencil in her hand, notebook on the table in front of her. Whatever she was working on was captivating all her attention.

Suddenly, all of Alex's attention was captivated, too.

Willingly, he gave up his spot in the line at Subway and made his way over to her. As much as he wanted to be able to stay away . . . that just wasn't an easy thing to do sometimes, especially now that he was in the process of getting divorced.

"Hey," he said, pulling out the chair beside her.

"Hey," she returned, smiling. She really did look happy to see him. That couldn't just be an act, right?

"Doin' some writing?" he asked as he took a seat.

"Yeah. Not for class, though. Just for fun."

"That's good." Considering most of the other so-called 'fun' she had ended up online . . . writing was a nice alternative.

"Maybe you can read it when I'm done," she proposed.

"Maybe." He wasn't sure if he should, though. What if it was personal? What if it was the kind of thing that just drew him right back in again? He'd worked hard to create a boundary with her, a professional one, and even though it was shaky sometimes, he didn't want it to come crashing down.

Pushing his concerns aside, he asked, "So how's your semester going?" figuring that question was harmless enough.

"It's alright," she replied with a shrug. "I'm taking another writing class. It's not as good as yours was, though."

He smirked, happy to hear that.

"What about you?" she asked.

"Uh, just the Shakespeare class," he informed her. "It's goin' pretty well. I like teaching writing better, though."

"It's more interesting."

He nodded in agreement. Writing intrigued him because his students were able to create. Literature was more about analyzing something someone else had created, and Shakespeare had already been analyzed to death.

"So did you hear that your favorite Study Buddy got engaged?" she asked him suddenly, changing the subject.

"I did. Liz told me." Admittedly, the thought of Michael Guerin as a married man . . . took some getting used to.

"So what do you think?" she pressed. "Is he gonna go through with it?"

"Oh, I don't know." Alex had barely spoken to Michael in the past three years, and given that he was going through a divorce of his own . . . "I'm probably the wrong person to ask."

"I don't really think he will," Isabel said, "but . . . nobody listens to me."

"Well, I hope he does. He and his girlfriend both deserve to be happy."

"Yeah, I guess," she mumbled. "I mean . . . everyone deserves to be happy. Except Maria." She rolled her eyes, then added on for his benefit, "And Leanna."

He shook his head. "No, I want Leanna to be happy. Even if it's not with me." If Sean was that person, then so be it. If Jesse was that person for Isabel . . .

Jesse _couldn't_ be that person for Isabel, though. Could he?

She stared at him intensely, and he felt himself getting lost in those beautiful eyes of hers, the way he used to back when they were younger, back when he'd been crushed out and lovesick. He had to force himself to look away, and when he did, he noticed a guy a few tables away taking pictures of the two of them on his cell phone. A student from his class, perhaps? A student who couldn't believe that his instructor was sitting there with a bona fide porn star?

"I have to go," he blurted, standing up. "But it was good seeing you, Isabel."

"Yeah," she said, her expression shifting to one of sadness as he left. He didn't want to be rude, but he just had to get out of there. Because as a member of NMSU's faculty, he had to hold himself to a higher standard. And nowadays, sadly, Isabel Evans just didn't measure up.

...

It didn't come as any surprise to Michael that Kyle stopped by that afternoon. His friend had called him at least four times that morning around lunchtime, but Michael had been too tired to even pick up the phone. His day had mostly been spent on the couch, eyes closed, remote control in his hand, the sounds of football lightly coming from the TV.

"Good to see you upright again," Kyle said when Michael let him in.

"Yeah, really." Michael honestly didn't remember a whole lot about last night, but that fact alone was proof that it'd been a reckless one. "Thanks for bringin' me home."

"Anytime," Kyle said, glancing at the TV screen. His eyes lingered on the game for a few seconds, and when the quarterback threw a perfect pass into the end zone, he just smirked and said, "Hmm."

 _Could've been us,_ Michael thought, feeling the familiar pangs of nostalgia. Kyle wasn't the only one who missed the game.

"So is Sarah home?" Kyle asked.

"No, she's at work," Michael replied, shuffling into the kitchen. He had some scrambled eggs in the frying pan on low heat, and it was probably about time to give them a go.

"Explains why you're cookin' for yourself then," Kyle said. "Isn't it a little late for breakfast, though?"

"I didn't eat breakfast. I was fuckin' nauseous this morning," Michael admitted. "But I heard they help settle your stomach when you're hungover, so . . ." He shrugged and turned off the heat on the burner altogether, picked up the frying pan, and dumped the whole pile onto a plate. "Want some?" he offered. Hell, he'd made plenty.

"No, I'm good," Kyle said. "So I take it we're not workin' out then."

Michael picked up one little chunk of eggs with his hand and popped it into his mouth. "Were we supposed to?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, we planned to."

 _Oh, shit,_ he thought, seeing no way out of it but to straight-up bail. He just wasn't up to it today, and he couldn't even pretend to be. "Yeah, sorry, I can't," he apologized. "If it was any other day . . ."

"Right," Kyle said. It was almost like he was trying not to look disappointed, but . . . he _sounded_ disappointed. "Well, hey, maybe I'll ask Monk to come with me."

"Monk?" Michael couldn't even picture it. "Monk doesn't work out." The closest thing that guy ever did to exercise were the chair races they used to do when they were bored at work.

"Exactly. He's the only friend I have who I could beat in a footrace," Kyle said.

Michael chuckled at the thought of Monk potentially doing _anything_ physically active. "Well, listen, if you want, I could probably go with you tomorrow."

"Nah, it's alright," Kyle said. "I'll just go on my own."

"You sure?" He felt like a bad friend.

"Yeah, it's fine," Kyle assured him. Then he narrowed his eyes, though, and asked, "It _is_ fine, isn't it?"

"Is what fine?" Michael asked, feeling like he was losing track of the conversation.

"Just . . . everything," Kyle replied vaguely. "Is everything fine with you?"

 _With me?_ Michael thought. How the hell had this conversation ended up being about him? "Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" he said.

Kyle shrugged. "It just didn't seem fine last night."

"Why, because I got drunk?" Michael snorted. Wasn't like it was the first time that had ever happened.

"You got _wasted_ , man," Kyle said. "I haven't seen you like that in years."

"Well, I haven't been like that in years," Michael admitted.

"So why last night then?"

 _Because I'm freaked out,_ he thought, _about a lot of things._ It wasn't like he could say that, though, not even to Kyle, so he tried to play it off as nothing. "Why not? I was just letting loose. I was having a good time."

"Were you?"

Michael stared at him curiously, feeling like . . . like this whole conversation wasn't exactly coming out of nowhere. Kyle was a smart guy. Clearly he'd had an agenda in coming over here. "Okay, you know what?" Michael spat. "Why don't you just come right out and say whatever the hell it is you're thinking, because I have no idea what you're gettin' at here."

"Alright, honestly . . ." Kyle looked down at the floor for a moment, then lifted his eyes again and looked straight at Michael. "I'm kinda worried about you."

"Me? Why?"

"Just these past few weeks, something's been . . ." Kyle paused as he searched for the right word. ". . . off."

 _Play dumb,_ Michael thought. _Just play fucking dumb._ "What do you mean?"

"Well, there was the drinking last night, and the whole getting engaged thing."

"Getting engaged _thing_?" Michael echoed.

"Yeah, it came out of nowhere. And I mean, you don't even seem all that excited about it."

"What? No, of—of course I'm excited," Michael said, wishing he was a better actor, more convincing. "I'm just not a girl, so I don't get as excited about it as Sarah does."

"Are you sure you're ready to marry her then?" Kyle outright asked.

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"Are you sure you want to?"

 _No,_ he thought. _No, I'm not sure._ But his lips were getting so used to lying at this point that the deflections just kept coming out. "Why else would I have proposed?"

"I don't know; you tell me."

He groaned, fed up with this. With all of it. This wasn't something he wanted to talk about. With anyone. "What the hell, man? Why're you doing this? You're supposed to be my best man. You're supposed to be supportive, not skeptical."

"I _am_ skeptical, though," Kyle said.

"Why?"

"Because you flat-out told me Sarah's not the love of your life."

Michael tensed, wishing he hadn't said that.

"Maria is."

Michael clenched his jaw, shaking his head. "Fine, Sarah's the love of my life, too, then," he ground out. "Just let it go."

"I can't. I'm worried, Michael."

"What, about me?"

"You, her, all of you."

He didn't want Kyle to worry, though, and he sure as hell didn't want him to question anything. Because if he started doing that, then maybe Sarah would, too. And that wouldn't end well. "Well, that's great, Kyle," he grumbled, feeling his frustration rising, getting the best of him. "Good for you for finally thinkin' about someone other than yourself. 'cause, you know, you did that for two years."

Kyle didn't even flinch, though. "Nice."

"Well, you did." Michael knew he was being a jerk, but it just seemed like the easiest way to get the accusations off of him was to turn them back onto Kyle. "You sat on the couch feelin' sorry for yourself and watching football games, and _we_ all worried about _you_."

Kyle shook his head calmly. "This isn't about me."

"Sure it is." Michael flung open the refrigerator and pulled out a beer can from inside. "You wanna get your life back to the way it was three years ago, and what were you doin' three years ago? Oh, you were lookin' out for poor screwed-up Michael. But guess what: I'm not screwed up anymore, and you're not the guy who's got it all figured out."

"Never said I was."

Even though he wanted to stop, Michael felt like he was a freight train, just barreling down the tracks without brakes. "I mean, look at you. You're not in school, you don't have a job, and you got two kids on the way. Tess wouldn't even be with you right now if I hadn't begged her to take you back, so maybe _you're_ the one who's screwed up, Kyle. Think about that the next time you ride up in here on your high horse tryin' to tell me what's wrong with _my_ life."

Finally, after all of that, Kyle started to look at little rattled. "Wow," he said, nodding angrily.

"I'm just saying . . ." Michael popped open the tab on his beer can and took a drink.

Kyle gave him a long, hard stare, and then mumbled, "Congratulations, Michael. You look just like your dad." And then he turned and left without another word.

No other words were necessary, though. That was all it took for every muscle in Michael's body to tense up. He gripped the beer in his hand so tightly that the tin started to bend beneath his fingertips. Suddenly, he felt like that same little boy who used to walk into the kitchen and see his dad getting drunk, wondering why he wouldn't stop, wishing he would.

Anything else. He could have looked like _anything_ but that.

Fearfully, he poured the rest of his beer straight down the sink.

...

"Oh my god!" Tess exclaimed as she pulled two little onesies out of the sack Sarah had handed her. "Sarah! These are so cute!"

"Yeah, when I saw them, I just _had_ to get them for you," Sarah said. Both were red, and one of them said _Thing 1_ on the front while the other said _Thing 2_.

"I love them," Tess said. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome." Sarah hugged her best friend, but the ever-protruding stomach sort of got in the way. "Ooh, you're getting harder to hug these days," she remarked.

Tess gasped, feigning outrage, and yelped, "Shut up! You'll be harder to hug someday, too."

Sarah smiled fondly at the thought. "Someday."

"Well, thank you again for the gift," Tess said, putting the onesies back in the sack she'd pulled them out of. "So . . ." she said leadingly, drawing it out. "Did you hear?"

"Hear what?" Sarah asked. She'd been at work all day, so she hadn't heard anything.

"It's our boyfriends," Tess revealed. "Apparently they got in a fight."

Sarah made a face, struggling to even picture that. "Like a real one?"

"Yep."

That just didn't even seem possible. "What? No way."

"They did," Tess insisted. She peered back over her shoulder down the hallway. The door to the bedroom was closed, but she lowered her voice anyway, as if she didn't want Kyle to know that she was gossiping about him. "Kyle was all upset when he came home this afternoon. When I asked him what was wrong, he just said he and Michael got pissed at each other and he didn't wanna talk about it."

"So what happened?" Sarah asked. She wasn't a gossipy girl by any means, but something as weird and unheard of as a bromance fight had her curious.

"I don't know. He won't say," Tess replied. "So that's why you have to go home and dig up some info, and then report back to me."

Sarah sighed, figuring she could try her best. But if Kyle wasn't talking about it, the odds were that Michael wouldn't, either.

By the time she got home, the sun was just starting to set outside, but Michael was already lying in bed. He wasn't sleeping, though, because he opened his eyes the moment she walked in the door.

"Hi, honey," she said, toeing off her shoes.

"Hey."

She shuffled towards the bed, her scrubs dragging on the floor. "How was your day?"

"Fine," he answered plainly. "Not too exciting. You?"

"Same." In her mind, she had more of a segue planned out, but she abandoned it as her curiosity got the best of her, and instead she sat down on the side of the bed and simply blurted out, "So I heard you and Kyle had a fight."

Michael propped himself up on his forearms and asked, "Who told you?"

"Tess. She and I were both kind of wondering what happened."

Michael looked away from her and shook his head. "It was nothing."

"Well, clearly it was something. You guys never _really_ fight," she pointed out. "So what's wrong?"

"No, nothing. Nothing's wrong," he dismissed, throwing the covers off. He shot out of bed and headed for the bathroom, also known as the only room in their tiny apartment where he could have any privacy.

"Michael . . ." she tried to stop him.

"Just leave it alone, okay?" he snapped. "I don't wanna rehash it." He shut the door, and she even heard the lock click into place.

Sarah frowned. Obviously this wasn't just some small fight Kyle and Michael had had. As much as she wanted to know what was going on, and as much as Tess wanted her to find out, she knew she had to give him space to figure this out on his own.

...

Michael avoided Kyle all Sunday. In fact, he avoided the subject of Kyle altogether. Tess sent him a lot of texts asking what the hell was going on, but he didn't respond to any of them. And Sarah was more understanding. She didn't push him to talk about it or tell her what was happening. Although she did seem concerned.

He worked a double shift on Sunday, just to have something to do, and then that evening, he hit the books, desperately needing to prepare for a social psych test he had this week. His grades this semester still weren't what they typically were. In fact, if he didn't buckle down and focus, they were going to start to resemble his high school grades. And with scholarships on the line, he couldn't have that.

With no class on Monday, it was another good day to study, although he did swing by the elementary school to assist Jake in his afternoon classes. Things went smoothly enough, and after Jake went home, he popped into Vanessa's office to give her an update on how things were going.

"So his Circle of Friends went well last week then?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he replied. "I don't know if any of those kids are _actually_ his friends yet, but they're not completely freaked out by him anymore. So that's progress."

"It is," she agreed. "You know, Michael, I really appreciate everything you've done for Jake. It's not easy, but you've established a really good rapport with him. I'm impressed."

"Thanks." Michael may have registered the compliment more if he wasn't distracted by a piece of paper on her desk that caught his eye. It was a list of names, and since one of the names was Maria's name, it automatically had his attention. "What's this?" he asked, picking up the paper.

"Oh, that's the chaperone list for the dance," she informed him.

 _The dance, huh?_ He'd seen fliers for it posted all around the school, but he hadn't looked at them too closely. "Is that this Friday?" he inquired.

"Unfortunately," she groaned. "You know, it's the first time they've ever had this dance, and even though it wasn't my idea, somehow I've ended up in charge of it."

Didn't surprise him. Vanessa ended up in charge of a lot of things from what he could tell. "You need any more chaperones?" he asked, counting up the names on the list. There were an even dozen of them.

"I've probably got enough," she said, "but if you wanted to come, I wouldn't say no."

Michael knew it was weird to _want_ to go to an elementary school dance, and he knew in his heart that there was one main reason why he wanted to go. That reason was the sixth name on the list. "I'll see if I can," he said, setting the paper back down on her desk. If Maria was going to be there, he wanted to be there, too.

In class on Tuesday, he waited for the perfect moment to casually bring it up with Maria. She sat next to him, not saying a whole lot, and unfortunately, he waited too long. The professor started in on the seventies of the eighties or whatever the hell it was they were supposed to be learning about today, and that left Michael with no choice but to talk to her quietly in the midst of the lecture.

"So I hear you're chaperoning this dance on Friday," he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.

"Oh, uh . . . yeah, I—I volunteered," she confirmed.

"Should be fun," he remarked. As much as he wanted to be around her that night, he also wouldn't mind watching Dylan get out there and have a good time. It beat watching him on the basketball court.

"Are you going?" Maria practically whispered, and he was glad she asked.

"I was thinkin' about it," he said. "You know, in case Jake's there."

"Yeah, it would be good for him to have you around."

He nodded, mentally applauding himself for coming up with a good, logical reason for his attendance. Although chances were, Jake wouldn't go, so he wouldn't be needed.

It dawned on him then, suddenly, that Maria might not be going by herself. Just because it had been her name on the list . . . that didn't mean she wasn't bringing someone with her.

"Is Max gonna be there?" he asked, hoping the answer was no.

"Um . . . yeah, I think so," she answered quietly.

 _Great,_ he thought sarcastically. It was like something inside of him just automatically deflated, and suddenly, the idea of spending the whole evening at that dance didn't sound as appealing. "Maybe I won't go then," he muttered. Chaperones ended up dancing with each other most of the time, and he didn't want to have to watch that.

He cast a quick sideways glance at her, just to gauge her reaction. She wasn't saying anything, but she looked a little deflated, too. And he hoped she was. Selfishly, it thrilled him to know she was disappointed he might not be there.

...

Maria's eyes scanned the calendar she always kept on top of the microwave, zeroing in on Friday. As irresponsible as it was, she'd actually spaced off this whole dance thing until Michael had mentioned it today. She'd forgotten to write it down and nearly forgotten that she'd volunteered to help supervise. She must have agreed to that back around Christmas. So chances were, if she hadn't remembered, Max wouldn't remember, either.

He came out into the kitchen, asking, "Hey, are you ever comin' to bed?"

"Eventually," she said, looking at the other notable event they had going on this Friday. "I was just looking at our schedule for the week."

He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, hugging her from behind. "No basketball," he said, kissing the side of her neck. "That means we'll have a little more downtime."

"Except for Friday," she pointed out. "That's Dylan's dance."

He tensed slightly, echoing, "Friday? This Friday?"

"Yeah."

He removed his arms from her body and muttered, "Crap. That's Scarlet's birthday."

"I saw that." As awful and as wrong as it was, she'd sort of been relieved to see that he was double-booked. Not that she would have minded being at the dance with him. It was just that . . . without him there, it'd be easier to spend some time with Michael.

"What am I gonna do?" he fretted. "Liz's parents are coming down, my mom's coming. We were gonna have a little party for her at the bakery."

"Well, then you have to go," Maria told him simply. "It's okay. Dylan will understand."

Max exhaled heavily, reluctantly. "It's his first dance, though."

"But it's your daughter's second birthday. You should be there for that," she persisted. "I'll take Dylan to the dance and do the whole chaperone thing, and maybe we'll be able to swing by the party when it's done."

He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "Okay," he said. "Sounds like a plan, I guess. I just wish I could be in two places at once."

She smiled at him sympathetically, but truthfully . . . she was glad he couldn't be.


	57. Chapter 57

Michael was placing letters in their correct mailboxes when the bell on the front counter rang. He ducked out from the little mail room, surprised to see Tess standing there.

"Michael, Michael, Michael," she said in a song-like kind of way.

"Tess, Tess, Tess," he mimicked. "What're you doin' here?"

She trailed her fingers along the edge of the counter. "Just . . . being nosy, mostly," she openly admitted.

He sighed, pretty sure he knew what this was about. "You wanna know what's going on with me and Kyle, huh?"

" _So_ badly," she emphasized. "I mean, I don't remember you guys _ever_ going so many days without even talking. It's weird."

"We just . . . need some space from each other right now," he told her.

"Why? What're you fighting about?"

To be honest . . . Michael wasn't even sure. He hadn't exactly enjoyed Kyle's parting shot about him looking like his dad, but that wasn't what pissed him off the most. What pissed him off was that Kyle had had the audacity to bring up the whole Maria thing. It was almost like he was _trying_ to plant doubts in his head.

"It's nothing," he said. "It'll blow over."

"Well, so far it hasn't," she pointed out. "He's really upset, Michael, and I don't like seeing him upset, because . . ." She trailed off, her voice changing to a whimper. "Because he's been doing so well lately."

He stared at her, hating the concern he saw in her eyes and noting the way she put one hand on her stomach. She wasn't really worried about their friendship so much as she was worried about Kyle in general, worried that he'd slip back into that depressive mode of his, start cutting himself off from people again, lose his newfound motivation.

"I'll talk to him," he assured her, figuring he could overcome his anger if it would make her feel better. "Don't worry, Tess." He could patch things up with Kyle and get things back to normal between the two of them, and it wouldn't even be that hard. And maybe then Kyle could go back to focusing on what really mattered.

...

The air was brisk and windy outside, but Kyle was just standing out in the backyard, hands in his pockets, eyes focused on one big tree. Michael stepped out the back door, curious as to what his friend was up to out there. "What're you doin'?" he asked.

Kyle answered without turning around, "Just tryin' to see if I've got the right kind of tree for a treehouse. Thought I'd build one."

Michael nodded, picturing it. "That'd be cool." He'd always wanted a treehouse when he'd been a kid, and his dad had promised him one. But he'd never gotten it.

"Ah, who am I kidding?" Kyle mumbled. "I can't build a treehouse. Too much heavy lifting."

It _was_ a lot of heavy lifting, and a lot of work in general, but he didn't have to do it alone. "I'd help you," Michael offered.

Kyle turned around slowly, looking at him skeptically. "Would you?"

He realized their last conversation had left plenty of room for doubt, but when it came right down to it . . . there wasn't much he _wouldn't_ help Kyle do. "Yeah," he said, already wondering if it was something they could put together this summer. Hell, maybe it'd be a fun project. If Kyle wanted his help, that was.

Michael sighed, sulking forward. "I'm sorry I said all that shit the other day," he apologized, hoping they could just put it behind them. They were guys, so they didn't have to drag fights out like girls did. "I was just pissed and hungover, and I took it out on you."

Kyle nodded solemnly and reciprocated the apology. "Sorry I said you looked like your dad. That was a low blow. You're nothin' like him."

"No, I was the other night," Michael acknowledged. "I got so drunk." He didn't want to be the type of guy to resort to alcohol when the going got tough. It hadn't even done any good in the long run.

"That doesn't mean you're like him, though," Kyle said.

Michael swallowed hard. "Good, 'cause I don't wanna be." Being like his dad . . . it would be his worst fear come to life.

"Me, neither," Kyle related. "You know, we're kind of in the same boat here. We both just wanna be someone. And we will be. I'll be a father, and you'll be a husband."

Michael nodded tensely, still trying to wrap his mind around that inevitability. "Someday you'll be a husband, too."

"And someday you'll be a father." Kyle smiled at him.

 _Someday,_ Michael thought. He thought of Dylan.

"At least you're doin' things in the right order, man," Kyle said, chuckling lightly. "I'm all backwards."

"Ah, you'll be alright," Michael assured him. "You've come a long way these past few months."

"Thanks," Kyle said, hesitating ever so slightly before asking, "So we're good?"

"We're fine." They'd known each other so long that it would take a lot more than one little argument to get in between the two of them. "Come on, let's hug it out. Bro-hug."

Kyle clasped his hand and pulled him close, patting him on the back. "Feels good in here."

"Yeah," Michael agreed, laughing a bit. He took a step back, glad to have that apology off his chest. He really hadn't meant what he'd said to Kyle the other day. It'd just been the anger and frustration talking.

"Alright, don't hate me," Kyle started in, "but I gotta ask just one more time, just 'cause you're my best friend and I care about you, okay?"

"Okay." Michael braced himself, knowing what the question would be.

"Are you sure you wanna marry Sarah?"

He nodded, making sure he sounded confident in his answer. "I'm sure."

"And what about Maria?"

Trying to act casual, he shrugged. "What about her?"

"She's . . . the love of your life," Kyle reminded him.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't love Sarah, too." He'd done a lot of reflecting these past few weeks, and he'd come to the conclusion that it _was_ in fact possible to love two girls at once. Because what he felt for Sarah was love without a doubt. What he felt for Maria was just . . . it was just love at a different level.

"Alright," Kyle said. "I just wanna make sure."

"No, I appreciate it," Michael said. Rather than lashing out this time, he was going to try to just be grateful. All Kyle was trying to do was look out for him. And that was what he'd always done. "I'm gonna marry Sarah and try to make her really happy every single day for the rest of her life. 'cause that's what she deserves."

"She does," Kyle agreed. "Okay. I won't say another thing about it then."

Inwardly, Michael breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

...

Maria tugged on a brand new pair of jeans and fastened them, spinning around to take a look at how her backside looked in them. They were supposed to accentuate your curves, in a good way. But she felt like they would have looked better on . . . some other girl.

A knock at the door distracted her, which was probably a good thing, because she'd spent _way_ too much time already trying on clothes for Friday night. She went to the door and opened it, and surprisingly, there stood Michael's girlfriend on the other side.

"Hey, Sarah," she said.

"Hey," Sarah chirped. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." Maria stepped aside and allowed Sarah to come into the house. She wasn't quite sure what was going on—surely a mall invite could have been accomplished through text message. The last time Sarah had dropped by, it had been to beg her to testify against Billy. Hopefully this wasn't something equally as serious.

"How's it going?" Maria asked as she shut the front door.

"Really good, actually," Sarah said, taking a seat on the couch. "Now that Michael and Kyle have patched things up, life's starting to feel normal again. The Earth is no longer tilted off its axis."

Maria frowned, not understanding. "Michael and Kyle were fighting?" That was just bizarre to even contemplate.

"Yeah, hard to believe, I know," Sarah said. "But Michael had a little too much to drink last Friday, and I guess Kyle got upset with him about it, and they just . . ." She waved her hands in front of her face. "Whatever. They're over it now, so . . . must not have been that big of a deal."

"Right," Maria said, though it sure _sounded_ like a big deal to her. If Michael had really been drunk enough to get Kyle so angry, then wasn't that cause for concern? It didn't seem like he went out and got wasted anymore, so why would he . . .

"That's actually not why I'm here, though," Sarah said.

"It's not?" Maria sat down beside her, worried that something had happened. Like maybe somehow Sarah had found out the truth about that ring on her finger.

"No. See . . . you know how I thought Michael would be, like, super enthused about having Dylan be the ring-bearer for our wedding?" Sarah grimaced. "Well, he hasn't said anything directly, but somehow I just sense that he's not as thrilled about it as I thought he'd be. So has he said anything to you about it?"

"Oh, well, he . . ." _He said plenty,_ Maria thought, but she was going to have to give Sarah the watered-down version. "He kind of _implied_ that it might be a little weird for him, just because Dylan was gonna be _our_ ring-bearer once. And—not that he's feeling nostalgic or anything—I just think he wants that day to be all about you and all about his future with you. Rather than the past."

Sarah nodded contemplatively. "So maybe we should find another ring-bearer then."

"Or just talk to him about it and see where his head's at," Maria suggested. "If you guys decide you wanna go a different direction, that's fine; but if you decide you do want Dylan to be your ring-bearer, then that's fine, too."

"Okay," Sarah said. "I'll let you know how he feels about it." She started to stand up, but she paused for a moment and sat back down. "But . . . wait a minute," she said, looking right at Maria. "What about you? How do _you_ feel about it? I mean, if it bothers him, it must bother you, too. God, here I am being insensitive again."

"No, no, you're fine," Maria assured her. Sarah had been nothing but nice to her, and she really didn't want her to feel guilty. "It doesn't bother me."

"Are you sure?"

 _No,_ Maria thought. _I'm not sure._ In fact, the only thing she was sure of was that it actually _did_ bother her. But that was . . . a very selfish feeling, and she just had to get over it. "Yeah," she answered, putting on her happy face. "I'm just so excited for both of you."

Sarah beamed a smile. "Thanks, Maria," she said. "You're a really good friend."

Maria smiled nervously. If Sarah had any idea just how many inappropriate thoughts about Michael raced through her mind day after day . . . she probably wouldn't think she was such a good friend anymore.

...

"So is this Friday night gonna be as wild as your last one?"

Michael frowned, cocking his head to the side. "Who'd you talk to? Kyle?"

"No, Sarah," Maria replied.

He shifted in his seat as their professor came in to the auditorium. "No, this one's gonna be pretty tame," he replied. "Just gonna stay in with Sarah, relax, watch some movies."

She nodded, eyes cast downward towards her lap. "I've got that dance tonight."

He nodded slowly, still wishing he could be there. But him and Max there together . . . it just probably wouldn't end well. "Big night for those little kids," he remarked, wondering how Dylan was feeling about it.

"Yeah," she agreed, and then, as if she could read his mind, she added, "Dylan's excited."

"I'll bet." Dylan would be a hot commodity at any and all dances he attended. The girls far outnumbered the boys in his grade, so he'd probably be dancing every slow dance.

She cleared her throat and quickly glanced up at him. "Turns out Max can't go, though," she said.

"Really?' Michael couldn't help but be . . . intrigued. Was that some kind of hint?

"Yeah. It's Scarlet's birthday party tonight, so . . ."

"Oh." It was definitely a hint. He nodded slowly again, already devising a plan in his head. He could tell Sarah the honest to God truth: that one of the chaperones couldn't make it. He could say he was just filling in. It really wasn't even a lie if he told her that. "So do you think they need another chaperone then?" he asked.

Maria shrugged. "I don't know, maybe."

"Do you want me to go?"

"That's up to you," she mumbled, barely making eye contact. "I don't care."

"You don't care?" He grinned, noticing the way she was starting to blush under the heat of his gaze. She definitely cared, and that meant she definitely wanted him there.

...

The dance wasn't fancy. For elementary kids, it didn't need to be. Basically all the tables had been moved out of the cafeteria, the lights were off, and there were a few streamers and balloons decorating the walls. The principal, of all people, was the DJ. He was just playing songs off his computer, which was hooked up to a speaker system for amplified volume.

Michael got there pretty early, so it was still that awkward time when the kids were sort of just standing around out on the dance floor. Nobody wanted to be the first to start dancing. A few of the third grade girls were taking off their shoes, though, a sure sign that they wouldn't be stationary for much longer.

Michael moseyed on over to Vanessa, who was frantically restocking the food table. There were various bowls of chips and candy and punch, but knowing the way little kids were, they'd end up making a mess of it by the time the night was over. In fact, if the dance _didn't_ end in a food fight, it'd be a damn miracle.

"Hey, Vanessa," he greeted.

"Oh, Michael. Hi," she said, smiling at him. "I didn't think you were gonna be here."

He shrugged. "Plans changed at the last minute. Thought I'd come by."

"Well, that was nice of you." She dumped a whole bag of Lays chips into a bowl and tossed the bag into the trash. "Well," she said, brushing off her hands, "how's it look?"

"Looks good."

She laughed a little. "Yeah, this is the result of me and a couple really ambitious third graders after school today. Nothing more."

"Probably looks like prom to them, though," he pointed out. "You know what? I spiked the punch at every prom I ever went to. And every homecoming. Basically just every dance."

"And now you're a chaperone," she remarked. "At an elementary school one. I'd say you've grown up."

"Oh, yeah." A few years ago, if someone had told him he ever would have volunteered to go to one of these things, he'd have said they were crazy. But times changed.

"Well, the good news is, we won't have to worry about spiked punch here," Vanessa said. "It should be a pretty easy night. Just let me know if you see anything getting out of control, alright?"

"Alright."

"Thanks." She slipped away when a very young little girl called out to her from the dance floor. She was sitting down, trying to tie her shoes but really having no luck. So Vanessa bent down to help her. Yeah, that would be the extent of drama at tonight's dance: untied shoes.

Michael's attention drifted to the front entrance almost on instinct, just in time to see the most recent arrivals walk in. Maria and Dylan. He had on a little suit and everything, and he looked adorable . . . but Michael couldn't take his eyes off Maria. She was dressed casually enough in jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt, but she just looked . . . amazing. In every sense of the word.

 _This is getting out of control,_ he thought. But even so, he didn't look away.

...

It was hard for Maria to tell who was more excited about this dance, herself or Dylan. He, of course, was acting like it was no big deal, yet he'd checked his hair in the mirror twenty times before leaving. She, meanwhile, couldn't get over the fact that her little boy was having his first ever school dance. She'd gotten plenty of pictures of him at home, and she planned on snapping plenty more while he was with his friends tonight.

"Well, this looks fun," she remarked, kneeling down in front of him. "Oh, look at you," she cooed, adjusting his little black suit jacket. "You look so cute."

"I don't wanna look cute," he complained for the umpteenth time that night. "I wanna look handsome."

"You _do_ look handsome. And cute. All at once," she assured him, getting a kick out of how seriously he was taking this. Obviously he was a man on a mission tonight. "Trust me, every girl's gonna wanna dance with you."

He wrinkled his nose up. "Girls are gross."

"Hey, I'm a girl."

"No, you're not. You're my mom."

"Okay, just get on out there," she said, giving him a gentle push towards the dance floor. "Have a good time." She watched adoringly as he shuffled out to his group of friends, mostly the other kids who played sports. It was all very gender segregated right now, boys on one side of the dance floor, girls on the other. And right now the girls were the only ones doing any dancing. They'd start intermingling soon enough, though. And hopefully once they did, Dylan would work up the nerve to ask a certain someone to dance. They'd practiced that at home.

Once Dylan had started socializing with his friends, Maria looked around for her own friends to socialize with. There were plenty of other moms and dads there, but if she was being honest with herself, there was really only one person she cared to be around tonight. And he was standing by the food table, his eyes on her.

Her breath hitched momentarily. God, he looked . . .

Enticing. There really was no other word for it.

 _I hope I look okay,_ she thought, pulling down slightly on her shirt. She didn't have much in the way of cleavage, but this shirt was a very structured V-neck, so it definitely accentuated what was there. She made her way over to him, subtly pulling out her necklace. The music symbol one he'd given her for her birthday.

"Hey," she said, feeling . . . sort of lame and ridiculous. Because who did this? Honestly, what twenty-two year old woman got all giddy and excited about seeing a boy at a dance?

"Hey," he returned.

She leaned back against the table, hoping he noticed her necklace. "So you decided to come."

"Yeah." It might have just been her imagination, but she felt like his eyes were lingering on her. "You look nice," he said.

"Thanks." It was always good to hear that . . . especially from him. When he said it, it just mattered more somehow. Maybe because he had so many other nice-looking women in his life.

"So I see Dylan's all dressed up," he remarked, looking out onto the dance floor. He waved at Dylan, and Dylan smiled hugely at him and waved right back.

"He wants to look good for Emily," she explained. "They have a crush on each other."

"A crush, huh?" He grinned. "Well, maybe they'll dance together."

For some reason, when he said that, all she could think about was dancing with him. "Maybe." Dancing wasn't just a casual thing, not even at Dylan's age. There was something so romantic about it, and when you were older, it was almost . . . intimate.

Gearing her mind back to an appropriate topic of conversation, she cleared her throat. "So do any of these kids know they're in the presence of royalty tonight?" she joked. When he shot her a confused look, she clarified, "Snowball king."

"Oh." He chuckled. "No, no, they don't." He kept his eyes on the kids, who were starting to move a little more now, but his face took on his sort of dazed, wistful look. She wondered if he was starting to think about the past just as much as she was, all their memories. Turning his head to look at her, he said, "That was a . . . big night for us."

She gulped nodding. "Yeah." It hadn't been their first kiss, nor their first _time_ , but still . . . the memory of that night was permanently embedded in her brain.

She let her mind wander back in time, back to the night when he'd slipped away from a dance like this just to meet up with her. The two of them, alone in a dark hallway, arms around each other, swaying to the music before his lips were on her neck . . .

She shuddered, jerking herself out of the memory. _Oh god. Oh god._

...

"Ooh, look, Scarlet! Some new books!" Liz exclaimed as she unwrapped Scarlet's next birthday present for her. "Grandma and Grandpa want us to do some reading."

Liz's mom moved in closer to Scarlet's high chair, which Scarlet kept trying to crawl out of. "Get a picture, Jeff," she told her husband. She leaned in on one side of Scarlet, and Liz leaned in on the other, holding up the books while her father scooted back to take the picture.

Beside him, Max's mom reached over and squeezed his arms. "She's so beautiful, Max," she said. "Just such a beautiful little girl."

"I know," he said, whipping out his phone so he could take a few more pictures of his own. "I love her a lot." Hopefully she'd always know that, even when she was old enough to go over to her friends' houses and see that they most likely had both a mom and a dad living there. He was always going to be a part of her life, even if he couldn't tuck her in every single night.

"You're a good father to her," his mom said proudly.

"Thanks." That'd been the goal all along, to do things right with her, not mess things up like he had with Dylan.

Speaking of Dylan . . .

He checked his messages and saw that Maria had sent him a few photos of Dylan all dressed up in his suit. In one picture he had on a black fedora and shades. Hopefully he hadn't worn those to the dance, because he looked like a Jay-Z wannabe.

"Hey, Max?" Liz called. "Can you help me get that Barbie car? It's in the back."

"Sure." He put his phone away and followed her to the back room of her bakery, where she stored pretty much anything and everything she needed to run her business. The box they needed to carry out sat in the middle of the room, and it was huge. Surely it wasn't that heavy, but it was so massive that Max wasn't even sure he could get a good grip on it.

"Are we sure this isn't a real car?" he joked.

She laughed. "It might be."

"Jesus." He nudged it with his foot, and it moved easily. If he could just balance it in his arms, he'd be able to haul it out there no problem.

"Thanks for being here tonight, Max," she said suddenly.

"Hey, it's my daughter's birthday. Where else would I be?"

"Maybe at your son's first dance," she said. "I know you hate to have to miss it."

He sighed, admitting, "I do wish I could be at both."

"Well, why don't you stop over there for a bit and then come back?" she suggested. "I don't mind."

"Are you sure?" He really did want to check in on how things were going with Dylan, but he didn't want her to feel like he was abandoning her.

"Yes, go ahead," she urged. "We won't do the cake until you get back."

He wasn't going to need any more convincing than that. Leave it to Liz to be incredibly understanding. "Alright. Thanks, Liz." He smiled at her and then bent down to lift the massive Barbie car up, but as soon as he had his hands on it, it slipped out of his grasp and fell onto her toes.

"Ow!" she yelped, jumping backward.

"You okay?" he asked. But she'd already started laughing, so he laughed, too.

...

 _Damn, these kids can eat,_ Michael thought as he restocked the food table for what felt like the thousandth time. Somehow, he'd found himself in charge of that tonight, and it was an exhausting job. Once the food ran out, maybe they'd all start to crash, because right now, they were high energy. As more and more kids showed up, the amount of them who got out there and danced increased. It wasn't dancing so much as it was a lot of jumping around and making fools of themselves, but at least they were all having fun.

"Hey, Mr. Guerin," a little girl he didn't recognize said to him. It took him a moment to even register that he was supposed to respond, just because he was so unused to being called _Mr._ Guerin.

"Hey," he said, barely even noticing the little shrimp of a kid the girl was holding hands with.

"Hey, Coach," Melvin squeaked out. Michael hadn't seen him much since football season.

"Hey, Melvin, what's up?" Michael got a good chuckle out of seeing him apparently with a date. They didn't say anything else to him. It was just back out to the dance floor, where Melvin had absolutely no rhythm whatsoever.

Michael scanned the crowd of kids for Dylan and was able to locate him relatively quickly. While many of them were clumping up towards the middle of the floor, he and Luke and a few other guys were hanging out on the outside of the circle more so they had more room to move around. Luke was doing a handstand that Michael found to be pretty damn impressive, and apparently some of the kindergarten girls thought so, too, because there were a lot of high-pitched squeals coming from that direction. Dylan tried to do one, too, but he didn't quite know how, so he ended up falling on his face. He got right back up, though, and laughed it off like the stud he was.

Wondering if Maria was seeing all of this, Michael looked around for her. And when he found her . . . he wished he hadn't. Because she was definitely watching, but she wasn't alone now. Max was there, standing beside her, his arm around her. There they were, a mom and a dad watching their son . . . and there Michael was, just watching them.

For some reason, it felt like it would be the worst thing ever if Max stuck around, so Michael stood back in the shadows, hoping he'd leave any second. A few minutes passed, and he didn't go anywhere. He took pictures of Dylan, said a few things to Maria, and then he even bent down and kissed her.

Michael had to look away.

The good news was that, after that, he left. Apparently it was just a drop-in, because just like that, he was gone again, and Maria was walking back towards the food table.

"Looks like Dylan's having fun," Michael remarked.

"Yeah," she agreed. "He was a little nervous about all the dancing, but Max tried to show him a few moves."

He grunted skeptically. "Max has moves?"

"Yeah, he's actually a good dancer."

"Whatever," Michael grumbled, rolling his eyes. As far as he was concerned, the only thing Max was good at was doing drugs. And kidnapping his own son, of course.

The current song ended, and a slower, more melodic one kicked on. Many of the kids groaned and started to leave the dance floor, but Michael knew this was Dylan's opportunity. "Ooh, here we go. Slow song," he said, watching intently as Dylan took a few steps towards a group of girls, then a few right back. "Make your move, man."

"He's shy," Maria said.

"He's not shy; he's just nervous." It didn't matter how old you were. There was something about asking a girl to dance that was downright terrifying. "He'll get over it, though," he promised, silently rooting Dylan on as he worked up the courage to approach the girls. "Watch. He's gonna ask her."

Maria leaned in to get a better look. "Do you think she'll say yes?"

"Oh, yeah. She likes him."

Dylan had his hands in his pockets and his head down, but apparently he got the question out, because one girl with long brown hair beamed at him and threw her arms around him. "And there we go," he narrated. Just like that, they were slow-dancing. Probably the first slow dance either one of them had ever had in their lives.

"Oh my god, I have to get a picture," Maria squealed, whipping out her phone. "Too cute." Michael wanted to do the same, but . . . he sort of felt like he couldn't. After all, it wasn't his kid out there. Maybe she'd be willing to send them to him. Maybe that wouldn't be too much to ask.

"That could be your future daughter-in-law right there for all you know," he said, just to freak Maria out.

"Let's not think too far ahead here," she cautioned, putting her phone away.

"Hey, you never know."

She sighed contentedly, a look of happiness on her face as she watched her son. "I guess anything's possible."

Michael watched her, though, completely mesmerized. _Yeah,_ he thought, _anything is._

...

Sarah rolled one sheer black nylon stocking up her leg and let it snap into place around mid-thigh. Then she did the same to the other leg. When she was done, she took a step back from the mirror and posed with one hand on her hip. Yeah, tonight's lingerie was ridiculously over the top. Along with the stockings, she had on a black strapless bustier bra and lacy black boy shorts that showed off plenty of cheeks. It was probably kind of a slutty look, but wearing it for Michael didn't make her feel slutty at all; it made her feel sexy.

She smirked at her reflection, pleased with what she saw. Maybe she didn't have the body of Isabel Evans, but Michael never seemed to complain.

Missing him, she picked her phone up off the bed and sent him a quick text, just so he knew she was thinking about him. _can't wait til u get home!_ She tossed her phone back onto the bed then and spun around to look at herself in the mirror again. Smoothing her hands down her sides, she felt confident. The look was definitely risqué. Michael would love it.

...

 _Can't wait 'til I get home?_ Michael thought as he read the text Sarah had sent him. She was always so happy to see him, to spend time with him, and lately, he wondered why. It wasn't as though he'd been a ball of fun lately. He'd been distracted by . . . things.

He put his phone away and continued to pick up trash. The other chaperones had vacated, but Maria was coming back to help clean up after she sent Dylan on his way for the evening. Vanessa and the principal were both still there, too, of course, but they had to stay outside with the kids until each one of them had been picked up by an adult.

"Okay, I'm officially a good mom," Maria proclaimed proudly as she came back into the cafeteria. "I'm letting Dylan go over to Luke's house tonight."

Michael smirked. "A _really_ good mom would let him go over to Emily's."

"Uh, yeah, not gonna happen," she said, shooting down that idea quickly. She looked around, and upon noticing it was just the two of them, groaned. "Did all the other chaperones leave?"

"Yep. Guess that leaves us with the clean-up."

"Jerks," she muttered, grabbing a trash bag. She started to go around from table to table, sliding empty cups and plates into it.

He watched her, staring intently as she bent over to retrieve some trash from under a table. That was definitely a nice view.

"You know, it's actually not as messy as I thought it'd be," she said, her back towards him. "I thought it'd be a lot worse."

"Yeah." He knotted up the gigantic trash bag in his hand and set it down, bored with the clean-up. It just seemed like such a waste to spend this time alone with Maria picking up trash. So he made his way behind the table where the principal's laptop was still set up, still connected to the sound system, and he quickly got onto Youtube.

"I told Dylan to clean up after himself, though," she went on, her back still facing him. "I hope he did."

Thinking quickly, Michael typed in a song he knew she would like.

"I really hope I'm not picking up his trash," she mumbled, bending down again. " 'cause that would just mean he didn't listen."

"Wanna dance?" Michael blurted suddenly.

She whirled around, this surprised look on her face. "What?"

His heart started to beat faster, and he wondered if this was what Dylan had felt like when he was asking Emily. "You wanna dance with me?"

For a second or two, she was just wordless, and when she did speak, all she said was, "There's no music."

He grinned, thinking to himself, _I can fix that._ He clicked on the video that he wanted, and thankfully, there was no ad. The music just started to play.

Her whole face lit up, and she got that familiar wondrous look in her eyes when she recognized the song. It was a cover version of 'Wild Horses' by the Rolling Stones. She'd played it on her guitar for him once, and he hadn't forgotten.

"I love this song," she said quietly, a soft smile on her lips.

It wasn't his typical type of music by any means, but he loved that she loved it. So he made his way over to her and held out his hand, silently inviting her to take it and step out on the dance floor with him. She looked reluctant, though, of course, like she was mentally debating whether or not it was the right thing to do.

"Come on," he urged, not caring if it was right or wrong. He just wanted to have her in his arms, just for a few minutes.

She was definitely hesitant, though finally her resistance gave in. She set the trash bag down and put her hand in his, allowing him to lead her out onto the dance floor. He kicked aside half-deflated balloons and fallen streamers and cleared a small space for them, hoping she wouldn't dance too far away from him. He wanted to be close.

She put her left hand on his shoulder and didn't even flinch when he put his right one on her waist. They kept their other hands out to the side, and instinctively, he interlaced his fingers with hers. She felt too distant, though, so he pulled her a bit closer, sliding his hand across the small of her back.

God, she smelled so good, he could barely handle it.

For whatever reason, whether it was because she was self-conscious or because her heart was pounding just as hard as his was, she didn't look at him. Instead, she looked down at their feet, the way many of these kids tonight had done when they danced together.

"This brings back memories," he said, tentatively rubbing her back.

"Of prom?" she asked quietly. "Or the snowball dance?"

"Both." They'd been completely different dances, on account of Isabel being his date to one of them and Maria to the other. But the common factor was that he'd been thinking about her the whole time at both of them. "That snowball dance . . ." he said, moving in closer so that he could feel her chest against his, press the side of his face against her hair. "That was one of the most exhilarating nights of my life."

He felt her shudder and heard her breathe in sharply. "Mine, too," she managed to gasp.

Closing his eyes, he let himself remember what it had been like to touch her that night, to kiss her. "I couldn't keep my hands off you," he said, well aware that one of his hands was growing evermore daring even right now. He kept letting it slide lower and lower, trying to subtly inch the back of her shirt up.

She didn't exactly pull away, but she didn't get lost in the reminiscence the same way he did, either. In fact, somehow she seemed able to carry on a rational conversation as she tilted her head back and looked up at him curiously. "So . . ." she said, "what song are you and Sarah gonna dance to at your wedding?"

He winced inwardly, wishing she wouldn't mention that, anything about it. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"Maybe this one?" she suggested.

He shook his head, knowing that wouldn't be possible now that he was dancing to it with her. "No."

"No?" Her bottom lip trembled, and he swore he could see tears in her eyes. Like it broke her heart just thinking about it.

He pressed harder against her back, wanting her to get as close to him as possible. And she did. She moved in so close that she could even rest her cheek against his chest, and he could lean down and breathe in the scent of her. "I don't know what I'm doing, Maria," he confessed as his fingers traced small circles on her skin, right at the spot where he knew that tattoo of hers was.

She tensed, and their dancing slowed.

"What if I made a mistake?" he wondered, his breath rustling her hair.

She tensed up even more, and her feet stopped moving. So he stopped moving, too, and suddenly, he was just standing there with her, holding her in his arms, trying to think of any way it would be possible for him to let her go.

The music continued to play as she lifted her head and looked up at him, her face mere inches away from his own. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and for a second, he thought he was going to do it. He was going to kiss her. And it would be the best kiss of her life. And his.

He didn't get the chance, though, because Vanessa came back inside. "Michael, can you help me . . ." She trailed off abruptly when she walked up on the two of them.

Maria backed away quickly, letting go of his hand, and pulling her shirt down in the back. _Déjà vu,_ he thought, wondering just how much Vanessa had seen. Three years ago, a different guidance counselor had walked up on them dancing together, _very_ intensely in their own moment, and Maria had gotten nervous then, too.

"I'm so sorry, I have to go," she said apologetically, scurrying past Vanessa. She stopped on the way out and turned back around, though. "But thanks for doing this for the kids tonight," she added.

Vanessa nodded wordlessly. Skeptically.

Michael stared at Maria pleadingly, wanting her to stick around. Maybe she could wait for him out in the parking lot. Or they could go somewhere and just talk. Or . . . no, they could _just_ talk. Even that was fine with him. He just had to figure some stuff out.

She cast one quick glance back at him, but that was it, and he knew she'd be heading straight home. She'd get in bed with Max tonight, and he'd get in bed with Sarah. But the difference was that she'd try to forget tonight had happened. He wouldn't, because in its own way, it'd been just as exhilarating as that snowball dance had been.

When Maria was gone and it was just him and Vanessa left there, the concern was evident in her eyes. She wasn't an idiot. She knew she'd just interrupted . . . something.

He probably needed some guidance right about now. But he wasn't going to talk to her about it. So instead, he picked up his trash bag again and got right back to work.


	58. Chapter 58

Maria barely managed any sleep that night. She tossed and turned and felt bad about it, because she knew she must have been making it hard for Max to get any rest. He even reached over to touch her leg and ask her if she was okay a one point.

She wasn't okay. But she told him she was fine.

After drifting in and out of sleep for nearly seven hours, she finally just got up, figuring it was a lost cause. What good did it do to close her eyes when all she saw then was Michael? Michael's face mere inches from her own, Michael's lips mumbling something, something about making a mistake.

 _God, I'm such an idiot,_ she thought as she got undressed and climbed into the shower. _I never should have danced with him._ It'd been an incredibly stupid thing to do, and she regretted it. She really did.

Except . . . she kept thinking about it. In fact, she couldn't stop. The harder she tried, the more she got lost in the phantom feeling of his hand on her waist, his fingertips brushing lightly against the skin on her back. The memory sent a shiver up her spine, even as the showerhead poured warm water down onto her.

She tried—she really did—to push the thoughts from her mind, but they just wouldn't go. Having his hands on her tonight had been a total rush, and undeniably, she wanted more.

She _needed_ more. Right now.

Just as she used to do back when she'd been the crushed out homeless girl crashing at his house, she snaked her hand down her stomach to settled in between her legs. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and touched herself intimately, trying to replicate the way it felt when he did it. It'd been years, but she still remembered exactly what it felt like, and no matter how hard she tried . . . she just couldn't get it to feel quite as good.

It definitely didn't feel horrible, though. There was so much tension and passion piling up inside her. She just had to release it. And with the help of her own hand, she did.

...

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"

Michael groaned when Sarah jumped onto the bed, landing halfway on top of him.

Giggling, she apologized, "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

"That's okay." He yawned and stretched out his arms and legs, wondering if it was as early as it felt to him. It was hard to tell with Sarah. Sometimes she'd sleep in until 10:00 with him on Saturdays. Other times, she'd literally set her alarm so she didn't waste too much of the day.

"Are you still tired?" she asked him.

He nodded sleepily, although . . . he wasn't sure. There was a definite difference between tired and being lazy. Right now, he felt like he was more of the latter. Like all he wanted to do today was lie around and . . . maybe think. Or try not to think. Whichever one made him feel less guilty about asking Maria to dance last night.

 _Maria._ The moment he thought of her, his eyes opened fully, and he felt . . . alert. He glanced down and noticed a slight bulge underneath the covers. Yeah, he'd definitely been having one of _those_ dreams. Hopefully Sarah wouldn't notice.

"Well, you should rest today," she suggested, snuggling up beside him. "You'll have the place to yourself. I think I'm gonna go spend some time with my parents this weekend."

"Oh, yeah?" He yawned again, wondering if that was a subtle hint for him to go along with her. "Just missin' 'em?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Well, I mean . . . yeah, I guess I always miss them. But it's actually my grandma's eightieth birthday. I really should be there to celebrate."

"Sure," he agreed. It didn't exactly sound like the social event of the season, but he figured he should at least offer to tag along. He was her fiancé, after all. "You want me to go?" he asked.

"No, you don't have to," she assured him. "I know you still need to get caught up on schoolwork."

True, he did. But that most likely wasn't going to happen. Not this weekend. Maybe not even the next. He was finding it hard to feel motivated lately.

"Besides, I think my mom kind of likes the thought of having some mother/daughter time," she added. "Not that she has anything against you or anything. It's just that . . . you know, now that we're engaged, I think it's hitting her that I'm _really_ not a little girl anymore."

"Yeah." He supposed he understood how the whole thing could be a little bittersweet for a parent. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Sarah would make the most of this weekend with them. There would be a lot of talk about the wedding, surely. _Surely._

Yeah, he definitely _didn't_ want to be there for that.

"So when are you leavin'?" he asked her.

"Before noon probably. I got a bag packed last night. Before you came home and completely ignored me," she said, pouting exaggeratedly.

"I didn't mean to ignore you," he assured her. "I was exhausted."

"Well, clearly."

He sighed, feeling like he'd hurt her feelings. She'd gotten all dressed up in some sexy new lingerie last night, and he'd barely even laid a hand on her. Because all he could think about was having his hands on Maria, and she had _no_ idea.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"It's fine," she said before hinting, "You know, I _do_ think you have a little time to make it up to me, though."

"Oh, do I?" His head really wasn't in the right space for this.

"Yeah." She reached down beneath the covers, gently massaging the morning hard-on he'd planned to slip into the bathroom to relieve, and he knew there was probably no way out of this.

 _What the hell's wrong with me?_ he wondered. Most guys would kill to be in his position, and here he was looking for an escape route so he _didn't_ have to have sex with his incredibly hot, incredibly wonderful girlfriend?

God, he was a piece of work.

 _Don't think about Maria,_ he coached himself as he moved in closer to Sarah and kissed her. But from the moment their mouths touched . . .

 _Dammit._ Maria was the only thing on his mind.

...

Michael gently pulled on Shango's leash, trying to get his attention off a half-dead bush and onto the task at hand: doing his business so they could go back inside. And sulk. Today was definitely a sulking day.

He frowned, wishing he hadn't slept with Sarah this morning. She deserved better. She deserved a guy who was thinking only about her while he was inside her.

He winced when he thought of the things she'd said to him mere hours ago, the way she'd whispered her love for him into his ear while he thrust his hips forward. Pathetically, he hadn't even been able to even say it back this time. And it wasn't her fault. She'd done everything right. He was the one who was screwing things up. It was all his fault.

He swallowed hard and yanked on Shango's leash again, a bit more forcefully this time, as he started to sniff at the bush again.

As if on cue, as if his brain wasn't jumbled up enough already, Maria came walking down the sidewalk, right towards him, like a woman on a mission. This didn't look like a friendly visit.

"You workin' today?" he asked her, looking down at his dog just so he didn't have to look at her, didn't have to notice the way her hair blew around her face in the breeze, didn't have to notice the necklace she wore around her neck.

"Yeah," she said, slowing down as she got closer to him.

"At Vidorra?"

"No, one of the dorms."

He nodded, sighing impatiently as Shango continued to sniff around and do nothing.

"What about you?" she asked, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "Are you . . . do you have plans with Sarah, or . . ."

He shook his head. "Nope." He probably should have gone with her this weekend. She'd probably just been doing the nice girlfriend thing when she told him to stay home. "Actually, she's driving home to Las Cruces right now to spend some time with her family," he told Maria, feeling like he was a jerk for not going with her. He was just a jerk in general these days. "So I'm by myself this weekend." Chancing a look over at her, he mumbled, "If you wanna drop by . . ."

An instant look of alarm flashed in her eyes. "No," she said.

"No, you don't want to?" That was probably for the best.

"No, I can't," she corrected.

Even though he understood exactly why it would have been a bad idea, and even though he hated feeling like a jerk . . . there was some guttural part of him that wanted to bring her up to his apartment and just . . . give in. "Why not?" he pressed.

She took her hands out of her pockets and folded her arms over her chest, mouth tightening, brows furrowing as she totally avoided answering the question, asking one of her own instead. "Michael, what did you mean last night, when you said you thought you made a mistake?"

"I didn't say I _thought_ I made a mistake; I said 'What _if_ I made a mistake?'" he reminded her.

"Okay, fine, so what did you mean?"

The wind howled around them as he looked her right in the eye. She was right there, so close, and yet for some reason, it seemed as if she were determined to keep herself away.

"Nothin'," he muttered, clinging to the few shreds of determination he had left.

She was persistent, though. She growled, "Michael," with such fervor and insistence that he knew she wouldn't allow him to not answer.

 _Fuck it,_ he decided. She wanted to know. Hell, she probably already knew, so what she really wanted was for him to lie to her, lie and say he hadn't meant anything by it at all. But he wasn't about to do that. Lying was getting him nowhere.

The question had been there all along. All he had to do was ask it: "Maria, what if we're meant to end up together?"

Her eyes got very wide very fast, almost instantly filling up with tears. Her mouth dropped open slightly, and she looked . . . stunned. Like she couldn't believe he'd just said that out loud or something.

And then she turned and walked away at a brisk pace, nearly at a run. Seemed like she couldn't get out of there fast enough. Maybe that meant her own determination was vanishing. Or maybe, lately, she'd been wondering the same thing.

He didn't bother to go after her, because something told him she'd be back.

...

It was a good thing there wasn't much for Maria to do at work, because she couldn't have done any of it if she'd tried. Her mind was so elsewhere that she spaced off during her entire shift, barely even paying attention as students filtered in and out of the building.

" _What if we're meant to end up together?"_

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember why that wasn't a possibility.

...

 _A content smile covered Max's face as he rolled over onto his side and looked at her. She wondered what he was looking for. A smile of her own, maybe? It was there; it was just buried a little deeper inside than his was. Sleeping with him again was . . . strange. Because physically, it felt good, but emotionally . . . she felt like she'd betrayed Michael somehow. And she knew it was illogical to feel that way, but . . . she did._

" _Does it scare you," he asked softly, reaching over to caress her arm, "trusting me again?" His face took on a serious look, and she could tell he wanted an honest answer._

" _A little," she admitted. There was still a part of her that thought it best to be wary, cautious, even though she was already lying in bed naked with the guy. "Not as much as I thought it would, though."_

" _And why do you think that is?"_

" _Because . . ." She turned over onto her side, trying to push Michael's face out of her mind. She'd done a pretty good job of that during the sex itself, but now that they were doing the whole basking thing . . . it was harder. "I know you really have changed," she said. "You're a good man. It's not just an act."_

 _Max smirked. "I'm a work in progress."_

" _We all are," she whispered, wondering how much work she would still need to do on herself. He was so concerned with being the type of man she deserved, but sometimes she doubted if she was the woman he deserved. He and Liz had a daughter now. He'd probably be way better off with her, with someone whose heart had room for him. And only him._

" _Do you think maybe we're meant to end up together, though?" Max asked. "I mean, do you think it's possible?"_

 _Anything was possible, she supposed. She and Max did have quite a story, after all. Maybe this was the chapter that would push it towards a happy ending. "Maybe," she squeaked out, wondering what chapter Michael's story was on nowadays. Did he have another girlfriend? Would he ever? Would he fall in love with her?_

" _I guess we'll see, huh?" he said, touching her cheek with the back of his hand. He looked so hopeful. He sounded so hopeful._

 _Thinking about Michael was hope_ less _, so she managed a small smile of her own, trying to sound reassuring when she said, "Yeah. We'll see." But in her heart, she couldn't help but worry. Even though Max had become a good man, she just had a feeling that the only reason she might be meant to end up with him was if Michael was meant to end up with someone else._

...

"Maria?"

Maria snapped herself out of her daze and looked up. There beside her stood Spencer, ready to take over the shift. Work was over. Hours had passed.

She didn't even bother saying hi to him, or goodbye, or anything. She grabbed her purse, stood up, and bolted out of there with one destination in mind.

...

The refrigerator was stocked with plenty of leftovers, so Michael wouldn't have to worry about being hungry this weekend. Even when she wasn't there, Sarah was taking care of him.

He took out a small bowl of chicken cordon blue casserole and took off the lid. Yeah, that had tasted good a few nights ago. It'd work for tonight, too.

Before he could put it in the microwave, there was a loud knock on the door. Almost instinctively, he knew it was Maria. Who else would be that pissed at him right now to knock that loudly? It was an angry knock.

 _Here we go,_ he thought, opening the door.

"I need to talk to you," she blurted, pushing right past him as she came inside.

"Okay." Whatever this conversation amounted to, he preferred it to having her just walk away. "About what?"

She threw her purse down on the couch and spun around heatedly. "What do you think?" she snapped. "You can't just—you can't just _say_ something like that, Michael. 'Oh, what if we're meant to be together?' Why would you say that? Why would you even think it?"

He shut the door, trying to keep his own voice level and calm as he challenged, "Are you tellin' me you haven't wondered the same thing?"

She hesitated for a moment, just a second, but it was enough to give her away. "No, I haven't."

 _Like hell you haven't,_ he thought. It was so obvious on so many levels. "That's a lie."

"I'm not lying!" she roared. "God, you are so annoying!"

"Then leave," he suggested. It was a simple solution, and it would probably keep him from saying a whole lot of things he shouldn't. "I'm serious, Maria, if I'm such a pain in the ass, then leave. I didn't ask you to come up here."

"No, you pretty much did," she argued.

"I said you could drop by. Like to hang out, not to yell at me."

"I'm not yelling!" she . . . well, yelled. "I just think . . ." She stopped and took a breath as if to try to steady herself. "Look, things have gotten kind of . . . complicated recently, and I just think we need to straighten some things out. Maybe re-establish some boundaries. Because last night . . ." Her lower lip trembled, and it was a beautiful sight to see. "Last night, when we danced, Michael . . ." For a second, she dropped her guard, and he could see it in her eyes just how much that dance had meant to her. But seconds later, her walls were back up again, and she was angry. "That was just too close for comfort."

"You weren't comfortable?" He leaned back against the counter, grinning. "Or were you _too_ comfortable?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?"

"Like . . . flirty."

He snorted nonchalantly. "Oh, please, I flirt with you all the time."

"Well, it has to stop," she declared decidedly, as if it were her decision and her decision alone to make. "It's just . . . it's not really appropriate, obviously, because you're with Sarah and I'm with Max. And we need to respect them."

"Yeah, good luck with that," he muttered sarcastically. "I'll never respect Max."

"I don't care." Her eyes bore straight into his, and when she spoke again, her voice sounded like it was right there, just right on the edge, as if it were about to crack. "I'm _with_ him, Michael. I've been with him longer than I was ever with you."

 _That doesn't matter,_ he thought. It wasn't about the quantity of time you had with someone; it was about the quality of it.

"We have a son together," she said pleadingly, almost as if she were begging him to understand and just leave it alone. "We have a really good life. And look at you. I mean, you have Sarah, and she's . . . god, she's practically perfect."

She really was, wasn't she? She had a beautiful interior to go with her beautiful exterior. She loved him more than anything in the world. And yet . . . there was just something missing.

"She's not you, though," he said quietly, just loudly enough for her to hear.

She made a face. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

 _Don't play dumb,_ he thought, inching his way towards her. _You're not dumb._ "You know what it means."

She took a step back, running into the closed door. "Okay, no, we are not doing this," she said, holding both hands up in front of herself, as if to shield herself or something. "We're not having this conversation."

"Sure we are." He crept closer still, his blood pumping faster in his veins.

"No, we're not." Both her hands shot out against his chest, and she pushed him backwards a bit. "Sarah is your girlfriend. You're in love with her. You're gonna marry her. End of story."

It didn't feel like the end, though, not to him. It felt like the beginning.

"So forget about me," she told him. "Don't ask me to dance. Don't punch out guys on my behalf. Don't . . ." She tore off her necklace and threw it on the floor. "Don't buy me birthday presents or wonder if we're meant to be together, because we're not. Okay?"

Oh, if only it were that simple. He _wished_ it were that simple. "No," was his response.

"What?" she gasped.

"No, it's not okay," he reiterated. "That's not okay with me."

Her whole face contorted with emotion, and she whimpered. "I _left_ you."

"Only 'cause you felt like you had to, not 'cause you wanted to," he reminded her, stepping in close to her again. "And you said, 'Maybe if things were different.'" He held his arms out to the sides. "Look around. Things are different. _I'm_ different."

A tear slipped out of the corner of her left eye.

"But not completely." He gulped. It didn't matter how much time passed, or how much time would pass. One thing would always remain the same. "Because I still love you."

She groaned, "Oh, Michael . . ." and pushed past him. It wasn't like there was anywhere she could go, though. It wasn't a big apartment. So she just took a few steps in the other direction and then stopped, her shoulders slumping, her neck craned back.

"Don't act like you're upset," he said. "You still love me, too; I know it."

She spun around, eyes narrowed at him. "I love Max."

"But you're _in love_ with me. Why the hell else would you still be here?"

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Alright, say it then," he urged. "Say you don't love me."

Her expression remained that of a glare, but despite her best efforts to keep her jaw clenched shut, her mouth was trembling.

"See?" He smirked, feeling like he'd just proved a point.

"I'm not gonna say that, Michael, because a part of me will always love you," she said in a rush. "But that just doesn't mean anything for us anymore."

"Are you kidding? It means everything!" he spat.

"Oh, really?" she challenged. "Because last time I checked, you're engaged to another woman! You used _my_ ring to propose to her, remember? You're gonna _marry_ her, Michael. Do you not understand how big of a deal that is?"

"Of course I understand!" he yelled back. "Why do you think I've been such a fuckin' mess lately? 'cause I know it's wrong, 'cause I know it's not what I want."

"What _do_ you want then?"

"I want you," he blurted, as if it wasn't obvious at this point. "I want all of you. I wanna be able to dance with you and not feel bad about it. I wanna tell you that I love you every single day. I wanna put my hands on you, 'cause when I'm around you, my whole body feels like it's on fire."

"Well, fire burns," she mumbled stubbornly.

"Yeah, so does passion." They had passion. Hell, they probably had too much of it. At this point, it felt like it was going to burn him alive, but he didn't even care. "When I first saw you on this campus, Maria, I literally couldn't take my eyes off you," he told her.

She shook her head as though she didn't believe him, or maybe she just didn't want to hear it.

"I'm serious, I walked out into the street and got hit by a car," he revealed.

Her eyes widened in horror.

"No joke." If that didn't prove how utterly fascinated he was by her, then nothing could. "Oh, and this music class?" he added. "I don't really need it. It doesn't fulfill any fine arts credit. The only reason I took it and the only reason I'm still taking it is so I can be around you."

"What?" she shrieked. She grabbed her hair with her hands, looking as though she were about to pull her hair out. "Are you—are you _fucking_ serious, Michael?"

"Yeah." As pathetic as it was . . .

"So you lied to me." It wasn't a question. Just more of a snarl.

"I've _been_ lying, Maria, to everyone. To you, to Sarah, my friends, my family . . ." When he started to take stock of all the lies he'd told, whether they were big ones or small ones . . . it really was mind-blowing. And not in a good way. "I've been lying to myself for the past three _years_ ," he said, letting that sink in. Subconsciously, he'd probably known it all along, but saying it out loud made it all the more real. "I kept telling myself I was over you, but I'm not, Maria. I'll never be over you." He closed the distance between them and reached out to put his hand on her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away the traces of tears that were there. "You're the only girl I ever really wanted to marry. You're the only girl I wanted to have kids with." He smiled at her, hoping she'd be touched instead of outraged. "You're the love of my life."

Her tears started to fall faster, thoroughly coating her cheeks now. "Don't say that, Michael."

His smile fell. "Why not?"

She sniffed, taking a step back. "It just makes this really hard," she whispered, drying her eyes.

 _Oh, fuck this,_ he thought. There was no way he was just going to stand there and let her pretend that it wasn't all mutual. "You're not honestly gonna act like I'm _not_ the love of your life, too, right? 'cause I know I am."

"Fine, you're the love of my life, too!" she cried. "I wanted to be your wife, and I wanted you to be Dylan's dad—I wanted that more than anything—but we had our chance. We couldn't make it work."

He winced, knowing it was his fault. His carelessness, his immaturity . . . that was why he'd ended up jumping off that bridge that night, and that was why she'd ended up driving away a few days later.

"And we hurt people by being together, Michael," she reminded him. "Look what we did to Isabel."

He refused to accept responsibility for that one, though. "We didn't do that," he grumbled. The girl made her own choices.

"And Max . . ." She shook her head. "I am _not_ gonna hurt him like that. He's done so much for me. He changed his whole life around; he's a completely different person."

"Why don't you stop thinking about Max?" Michael suggested.

"Why don't you _start_ thinking about Sarah?" she shot back.

"I can't." He'd already tried, but with her in the room . . . it was just impossible.

"You have to," she insisted. "You have to think about her, Michael. You love her."

"Not like I love you, though." He leaned in closer.

"But you still love her," she kept trying. "Doesn't that matter to you?"

"No." He kissed her. Abruptly. Without thinking. Without questioning. It felt like the right thing to do, and it felt like the wrong thing to do, all at once. So he did it.

As mad at him as she was, she kissed him back hungrily. Her hands gripped his waist, and his cupped her face as their mouths mated together. It felt as natural and electric now as it has three years ago. Almost as if no time had passed. As if they'd never been apart. He felt it in his gut, down his spine . . . all over. It was a hell of a kiss.

She broke it off suddenly, though, pulling away, taking a step back. Her eyes looked panicked when she warned, "You shouldn't have done that, Michael."

He tried to grab hold of her arm and pull her back as she walked past him, but she hurried out of there, slamming the door shut behind her. He knew he could run after her, catch her in no time. But what was the point? This was what Maria had done last time, and this was what she'd do this time, too. She'd want to act like it never happened, but she wouldn't be able to. And it was only a matter of time before she came back for more.

 _I have to break up with Sarah before then,_ he thought. Things had taken a turn now. It wasn't just an emotional affair anymore. He'd kissed another girl. He'd crossed a line, and now there was no going back.

Not that he wanted to.

As guilty as he felt . . . he wouldn't give this feeling up for anything. One single kiss was all it took, and everything came crashing back. Every emotion, every desire . . . they'd never gone away, and now, after that, they were back full force.

 _Shit,_ he thought. Sarah was going to hate him. Either that or be way too kind and actually forgive him. But he didn't want forgiveness. He wanted what had just walked out that door.

Sighing heavily, he looked down at Shango, who was curled up next to the TV, peering up at Michael with almost childlike eyes. Almost as if, even though he was just a dog, he understood that what had just happened had changed everything.

Before he even had a chance to think it over more, there was another knock on the door. It wasn't a loud angry one, this time—quite the opposite, actually—but somehow, he still sensed it was her.

He took two steps towards the door and opened it, confused.

"Forgot my purse," she muttered, literally shoving past him. She stomped towards the couch to pick it up from where it still lay on the middle cushion.

Michael's fingers itched.

His body still burned.

He couldn't not.

When she turned spun back around, he was already there, pressed up against her as his mouth dove in for another sudden kiss. She dropped her purse onto the floor and nearly collapsed against him, her chest melding against his. Standing up on her tiptoes, she kissed him eagerly, holding nothing back. Her hands immediately found their way to the back of his neck, and his were on her sides at once, gripping her waist tightly. Their tongues fought for dominance, and his eventually won out before he left her mouth altogether and kissed a line messy kisses down the side of her neck.

Gasping, she craned her head back and threw her whole body up against his as he sucked ferociously on her skin. Soft. So soft. And she smelled so good.

Faintly recalling that the door was still open, he backed them up in the direction of it and shot out one hand to shut it. Then he spun her around and slammed her back against it, eliciting a wild moan. He ground his jean-clad pelvis against hers, letting her know exactly what he wanted. As if it wasn't already obvious.

His larger frame surrounded hers as he braced one arm against the door next to her head, holding her hips in his place with his other hand. He stared at her intently while continuing to move his hips against hers, a silent but powerful hint as to what he had in store for her once they took their clothes off. She didn't object at all, didn't tell him to stop, didn't even try to argue that they shouldn't. Her expression had shifted, her eyes darkened to a point of raw passion. Her breathing was coming harder, and one of her hands tugged desperately at his shirt collar, as if she needed to feel some skin.

That worked for him.

Unable to resist another taste of her, he dipped his head and captured her lips between his again, appreciating the way she could kiss him back with equal fervor. When she wasn't expecting it, he bent his knees, hooked one hand around her waist and the other underneath her ass, then hoisted her up into his arms. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck as he carried her over to the kitchen counter. He swiped one hand to send the bowl with his now forgotten leftovers falling onto the floor.

Once she was on the counter and he was standing directly in between her legs, the clothes had to go. His shirt was the first to go when he yanked it over his head, and she made sure her own was quick to follow. Her breasts rose up and down with each desperate breath, and greedily, he bent to kiss them. She must have been impatient, though, in no mood for foreplay, because she grabbed his head in both hands and lifted it, bringing his mouth up to hers again. As they kissed, her hands shot out to find his jeans. She unbuttoned them and pulled the zipper down quickly, her fingers momentarily grazing across his hardened dick. He wanted her to reach in there and touch him, and apparently she sensed that, because she did. Her right hand slid down the front of his pants, gripping his erection through his boxer briefs. He groaned at the sensation, because it felt so damn good. Almost too damn good. If she touched him like that too much, this whole thing would be over before it started.

No, he couldn't have that. If he came before she did, then he'd need time to recover, and in that recovery time, she might back out, change her mind.

He needed to get her off first.

Insistently, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. For a second, she looked confused. But when he lifted her arm above her head and pinned her wrist back against the cabinets, she grinned playfully instead.

 _My turn,_ he thought, letting go of her wrist. With one hand, he unbuttoned the top of her jeans, and with the other, he slid her zipper down. Her stomach muscles started to flutter and dance before his eyes with the sheer anticipation of it all.

Going slow wasn't an option. He grabbed both sides of her jeans, and she lifted her hips up so he could remove them for her. He pulled them down roughly over the smooth, round globes of her ass, an ass he had wonderful memories of fucking. Surely she wouldn't let him in there. Not this time. And that was fine, because when he got her pants and shoes off and tossed them aside, he was able to see how wet her miniscule panties were. She was soaking right through already, and he wondered when they'd gotten that way. When they'd started kissing? Or maybe from the second she'd walked in the door.

 _Oh god,_ he thought, pushing his jeans down to his knees before swooping her back up in his arms. _I have to fuck her._

Once again she held onto him tightly, and they kissed fiercely as he stumbled around the dividing wall that separated his kitchen from his bedroom. It wasn't a graceful journey to that bed by any means—in fact, he felt downright clumsy. He had to step out of his jeans on the way there, and that wasn't easy. Hell, if he'd tripped and fallen, though, he would have just done her right there on the floor. But as fate would have it, he managed to get her to the bed.

He lay her down and then crawled on top of her, enjoying the feeling of his body enveloping hers. Smoothing his hands up and down her sides, remapping her curves for his memory, he kissed her a little longer before sitting back altogether on his knees, gazing down at her lasciviously. Her legs were already spread, and he was intoxicated by the familiar smell of her desire.

And there was no uncertainty in her eyes. Not the slightest trace of it.

 _Good girl._ Unable to resist any longer, he grabbed the side of her thong with both hands and pulled hard, breaking it apart. She moaned excitedly, digging her head back into the pillow, her back arching up off the bed. He tore the other side of the thong, too, and once it was nothing more than a useless scrap of fabric, he flicked it aside.

There she was. There was his girl. The only piece of clothing left on her body now was the bra her breasts were practically begging to get out of, and he thought he'd leave that on. There was something strangely arousing about fucking a girl who wasn't _completely_ naked. It was like a reminder that neither he nor she could wait.

Hell, he'd waited for three years. Wasn't that long enough?

Fear started to pulse through him as he removed his own underwear swiftly. The fear that she would back out at the last minute, that logic would kick in and get in the way of all the passion she was feeling. Completely unclothed then, he pumped his dick a few times, spreading around the pre-cum that had gathered at the tip. When she saw him do that, she slid her own hand down in between her legs to rub her clit with her middle finger. Normally he would have taken some time to do that for her, but what was the point? She was ready. He was ready. They wanted it.

He moved forward, using his knees to urge her legs open even further, and gripping the base of his shaft with one hand, he positioned himself at her entrance. Just to entice her, he traced the tip of it up and down her folds a few times. She groaned, as if she were frustrated, but the smile on her kiss-swollen lips told a different story.

Watching himself at her entrance, he wondered what it would feel like this time. Would it be like the first time all over again? Or even better? His mind started to go into overdrive as he contemplated how to maximize the pleasure. Maybe doggy style would be nice. It was his favorite position, after all, and seeing that tattoo of his initials while he pounded her wouldn't hurt one bit.

She didn't say his name, but she didn't have to. One little whimper was all it took for him to stop thinking. He started to push inside, but then she surprised the hell out of him by slithering upward on the bed, out of his reach.

 _What the fuck?_ he thought, fearing the worst. Crap, he'd waited too long, hadn't he? She'd changed her mind?

Instead of climbing out of bed, though, she got up onto her knees as well. With unexpected strength, she pushed his shoulders, getting him to lie down on his back. In one easy motion, she swung her leg over his body, maneuvering herself into the perfect straddle position. The base of her hands pressed hard into his chest, and his erect cock stuck right up against her backside. He didn't quite know what to think of the change of position, since he tended to be a dominant force in bed, but he liked it. Maria had this devious, indecent look in her eyes that was too hard to resist.

As unusual as it was for him to surrender the control, he did just that, moving his arms out to his sides, making no move to touch her. Instead, he let her touch him. She reached behind herself to grip his length and stroke him from tip to base and back again. He let her, not worried about cumming anymore. No, the feeling of her wet, hot pussy sliding against his stomach motivated him. The knowledge that he would soon be inside there, fucking her senseless . . . that was all he needed to think about to hold out.

Eventually, her hand's movements slowed, and that expression on her beautiful face shifted into something . . . more serious. No more teasing. This was it.

She scooted back slightly, her hips elevated as his throbbing cock stood at attention. He wrapped his hand around the base of it to hold it steady for her, but she literally swatted his hand away and gripped it herself. Eyes locked onto his, she waited for a few seconds, almost as if her mind was making an attempt to second-guess this whole thing. But it didn't, because soon enough, she was lowering herself onto him, accepting his length as it slid into her. As if it was made to be there.

"Oh . . ." he groaned, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't want to—he wanted to watch—but the sensation was just too strong. He had to take a moment to collect himself.

Her breath fluttered out of her lungs from the moment he penetrated. When he opened his eyes again, he saw her head flung backward, eyes shut, face contorted in ecstasy. He understood the feeling. The warmth, the pressure . . . it was exquisite. He'd never felt anything else like it, and he knew he never would.

Smoothing his hands up her legs, he hoped she would start moving soon, because he wasn't going to be able to resist. The simple touch must have wordlessly communicated his desire, and he wasn't surprised—they'd never really needed words in bed. Moments later, she was moving up and down on him. It felt natural. In a way, it felt like no time had passed, and they were just two teenagers up in his bedroom again, trying to stay quiet.

Inside, he was screaming, though, and he had no doubt she was, too. She released it in the form of moans, sighs, and gasps, and he was more of a grunter himself. When he was sure he had enough control over what his body was doing, he glanced down, watching the glorious sight of her body surrounding his cock, sliding it in and out with ease. She was tight but so wet that there wasn't any unwanted friction. The look on her face was one of pure pleasure.

Wanting to increase her pleasure, he started to raise his hips to meet hers, matching her pace, her steady rhythm. Eventually, he wanted to go faster, though, and he started to take over, pounding himself up into her more demandingly. She gasped and slumped forward a bit, head bent, hair curtaining her face as her body took everything he gave her. And he knew it could take more, too, which was why he made the move to reverse their positions. He sat up, careful to stay inside her, put his arms around her, and flipped her over onto her back. His dick came out of her for just a moment, but it was a moment too long. He quickly drove it back in, and then, on top of her, he continued to fuck her.

He got rougher, went harder. His thrusts became more jarring, causing her whole body to shake beneath him, making the headboard hit the wall. Her legs came up to wrap around him, her heels digging into his ass, urging him in deeper while her hands roamed his body. Fingernails bit into his skin, and sweat on her torso mixed with his. He held himself up with arms on either side of her head, pressing his forehead against hers, kissing her sporadically, frantically as they both panted for air. Normally, this was about the point when he would have slipped one hand down in between them to touch her, help get her off. But he sensed that this time, it wouldn't even be necessary.

She was bound to cum, even before he started angling his thrusts in the _perfect_ way to hit that special spot of hers. From the moment he did, though, she was a goner. Her eyes squeezed shut, and a gratified cry came from her mouth as an orgasm ripped through her body. He didn't stop, didn't even slow down as her muscles quivered and contracted all around him. Yeah, he was close, too, but that seemed secondary at this point. It was all about her. It always had been.

He wanted to make her cum again.


	59. Chapter 59

Sleep was a weird thing. One second, it had total control of Maria, and the next second, it suddenly let go of her. She woke up with a start, a gasp of breath rushing into her lungs. It took a moment for her eyes to register what they were seeing. Not her room. Not her home at all. Michael's.

Michael's _bed._

She turned over onto her back, whipping her head to the right.

 _Michael._

He lay beside her, sleeping, naked, the thin sheet covering his legs and waist.

 _Oh god,_ she thought, horror constricting her chest, making it hard to breathe. _Oh_ god.

She clutched the sheet to her own naked chest as it all flooded back to her. The sex . . . so much of it. They'd been all over each other. She'd never cum so hard in her life, and by the time they'd been done, she'd lost track of how many times he'd gotten her there. They just hadn't stopped, hadn't even come up for air. The whole thing had been one giant, continuous experience, and at the time, it had felt amazing. But now . . .

She felt like she was going to throw up.

Careful not to make too much noise, she slowly, carefully sat up, plotting her escape route. _Get dressed, get out,_ she told herself. There was no way she wanted to be there when he woke up. What would she even say to him after all of this?

The mattress squeaked just a little bit as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She grimaced as Michael stirred, but much to her relief, he didn't wake up. So she quietly got out of bed, and bent down to retrieve her bra from the floor. She put it on quickly, but when she picked up her underwear, she knew they were a lost cause. Shredded. Michael had been pretty animalistic. But then again . . . so had she.

She had to tiptoe into the kitchen to find the rest of her clothes. Her shirt and pants were both lying on the floor, just a few feet away from a bowl of food that had suffered the same fate. She got dressed in haste, managing to keep the tears and the anger and all the other emotion inside, only because she didn't want to make a sound.

Despite her best efforts to be completely silent, it didn't seem to matter. A muffled, "Maria?" came from the other side of that dividing wall. When she looked back, she saw Michael sitting up, a confused look on his face. "What're you doin'?" he asked.

She bent down to put her shoes on, mumbling, "Going home," wishing that was what she'd done after her shift today. If she just hadn't made the mistake of stopping by his place when she _knew_ he was alone for the weekend, maybe this wouldn't have happened. "What time is it?" she spat abruptly, realizing that it could be the middle of the night for all she knew. It definitely had felt like she'd spent hours over there.

When she cast a panicked glance at the microwave clock, she realized just how many hours she'd spent. It was after 10:00 now. She'd been over there for six hours. "Oh my god," she groaned, hating herself. She ran to the couch, picking her purse up off the floor, unzipping it and taking out her phone quickly. She had probably a dozen missed calls from Max, along with voicemails and concerned texts.

 _on your way home?_

 _you alright?_

 _call me, i'm getting worried_

She clutched her phone tightly in both hands, feeling as if someone were squeezing all of her insides. Each one of those texts broke her heart more than the next. She wouldn't even be able to listen to the voicemails. She quickly texted him back, _on my way….sorry_ , and sent it, not sure what she was going to tell him when she got home. How could she explain just being gone for such a long time? He'd expected her home hours ago.

"Don't go," Michael begged suddenly, his voice closer now.

"What am I supposed to do, just stay here?" she yelled, whirling around. Bad idea. He'd gotten out of bed now and was standing before her completely naked. "Can you please, _please_ put some clothes on?" she growled.

He actually looked annoyed that she would request that, but thankfully, he didn't argue it. He made his way over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of sweatpants. "You can't just leave," he grumbled as he yanked them on swiftly.

"Watch me." She slung her purse over her shoulder, prepared to storm out of there with what little—if anything—was left of her dignity.

"No, we need to talk," he insisted.

"Don't you think it's a little late for that?"

"Can we just . . ." He pushed his dresser drawer shut without bothering to take out a shirt and slowly came back towards her. "Can we just talk about what happened?"

"No." That sounded like a really bad idea.

"You're fuckin' kiddin' me, right?" he grunted angrily.

"What is there to say?"

"What is there . . ." He trailed off in disbelief. "Maria, we just had sex."

She winced.

"We didn't just have a really intense conversation or a really intense kiss. We had _sex_ ," he emphasized. As if it wasn't already emphatic enough.

"So?" she squeaked out.

He made a face. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

She groaned, frustratedly, tossing her purse back down on the couch. "Yeah, of course it means something, but . . ." She felt unable to find the right words to express herself. How could she tell him that it had meant more to her than anything else in the past three years had? That being with him had made her forget about everything else, every _one_ else. That she'd never felt anything even close to what she'd just felt with him, not even back when they'd been together. What they had done together tonight had been something new, something different. A whole new level of love and lust and arousal. Unfortunately, if she told him that, they'd end up right back in that bed.

"It was a mistake," she forced out, knowing, logically, that it was. "It shouldn't have happened."

"Well, it did," he said simply. "So what do we do now?"

"Oh, _we_ don't do anything," she responded decidedly. "It's not gonna happen again; we're not starting up an affair."

"No, that's not . . ." He paused, taking a few breaths to try to keep his voice calm. "What're we gonna do about . . . Sarah?" His eyes traveled down to the floor as he said her name, and his face took on a completely different expression. A sad one. A guilty one. She suspected he hadn't really given her too much thought until now—he'd been caught up in the moment, but now that the moment was over . . . reality was setting in.

"And Max," she added. There were two people whose hearts would be broken if they found out about this.

"I don't care about him," Michael muttered dismissively.

"Well, I do, okay? He's . . ." She gasped as she thought of him, thought of how happy he would be to see her when she got home. He would tell her loved her before they went to bed tonight. He would curl up close to her because he'd been so worried. "Oh god," she choked out, furious with herself for not giving more thought to him _before_ all of this. And even Sarah . . . good, sweet, innocent Sarah. "How could we do this them?" she whispered, horrified.

Michael shrugged helplessly, as though it'd been inevitable. "It just happened."

"No, it didn't just _happen_ ," she argued. "You wanted it to happen. You pushed and you pushed, and you wouldn't let up. I tried to talk some sense into you, but you wouldn't listen!"

"Oh, bullshit!" he erupted suddenly. "This isn't something _I_ did; it's something _we_ did. You and me." He glared at her, pointing an accusatory finger. "It's just as much your fault as it is mine."

She lowered her head, ashamed, knowing in her heart that he was right. It didn't matter how persistent Michael had been today, because in the end, she was the one who had given in. And once they'd started, it wasn't like he'd completely manhandled her. No, she'd matched everything he'd given her in a way that was new to her. She'd never felt so wild before.

"We have to tell them," he blurted, as if it were only his decision to make.

"Are you crazy?" she roared, whipping her head back up to look at him. "We're not telling them anything. The best way to deal with this is to forget about it and pretend it never happened."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause that always works out so well for us," he said sarcastically. "Maria, what we just did is the most powerful thing I've ever felt in my entire life. I can't just forget about it. I won't."

Deep down in the pit of her stomach, it excited her to know that it had been just as thrilling for him as it had been for her. But her mind was actually working now, so it wouldn't let her get lost in that feeling. "We still can't tell them," she said.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because it'll crush them." What more reason did they need to keep quiet? "Aren't you even the _slightest_ bit concerned about breaking Sarah's heart?"

"It's gonna break no matter what!" he replied loudly. "Either I tell her, or I stay with her and live a lie. That's not fair to her. She deserves better than that."

"You're _engaged_ to her," she reminded him. Although, what was the point? She'd tried reminding him earlier, and clearly that hadn't worked.

"All the more reason for me to end things now," he said.

"No, Michael, you can't do that. You are the stupidest person _ever_ if you break up with her for me."

"Well, I'm stupid then," he said with a shrug, " 'cause that's what I'm gonna do."

"No, you can't!" she yelled pleadingly. "If you tell her, then I have to tell Max, and that's the last thing I wanna do."

"But at least you're not engaged to him," he pointed out.

"No, I'm just raising a child with him." That automatically made it _so_ much easier, didn't it?

"You could raise him with me," Michael mumbled.

Her heart broke again when he said that, but for a whole new reason this time. Even after all these years, he still wanted _their_ family, the one that had defined his entire senior year of high school. Even after everything that had happened, everything that had gone wrong . . .

If she said the wrong thing, she knew it would give him false hope. So she was harsh. "He is _not_ your son, Michael!" she wailed. "You know, Max and I, we're not just—we're not just _dating_. We have a family together, and that family is the only thing that motivated him to turn his life around and be a better man." What if he didn't have Dylan anymore? What would happen to him? Would he go back to being the way he was? Doing drugs? Hating himself? She shuddered at the thought. "I can't take that away from him," she said. "He can't lose us."

"So what, you're staying with him out of obligation then?" Michael surmised. "That's no way to live. You're not doin' him any favors. He's gonna realize you're not happy, Maria. He's gonna figure it out."

"Not if there's nothing to figure out," she murmured, her mind already working, making the tough decisions about what she was going to have to do if this were to remain a secret.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

She shook her head, wishing it didn't have to come to this. But it did. "We can't keep seeing each other," she told him. "At work, in class . . . it has to stop."

"Oh my fucking god," he groaned. He backed up a few steps, then turned all the way around and started walking away from her.

"We're around each other too much," she said. "We just need to make a clean break."

"Oh, fuck that, Maria!" he shouted, stomping right back up to her, getting even closer this time. "You already left my life once. You really think I'm gonna let you leave again?"

"I really don't think you have a choice!"

"No, listen to me-" He grabbed her wrists.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, jerking her arms out of his grasp. She glared at him absolutely furiously, wanting to make her decision perfectly clear. "I am _not_ telling Max about what happened here today. End of story."

"And what if I tell him?" he proposed.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?"

The thought of it filled her with such horror and dread that she had to resort to begging. "No, Michael . . . please," she whimpered. "You can't tell him, _please_." The only thing worse than Max hearing it from her would be hearing it from Michael. That wouldn't just break his heart; it would shatter it. "I don't want him to know."

"He _should_ know," Michael contended.

She stared at him pleadingly, and gradually, that determined look in his eyes softened. No, he wasn't going to tell Max. He was just trying to intimidate her into doing it, and it wasn't going to work. She was holding her ground on this one, and before she left, she was going to make sure they were on the same page so that their course of action would be a smart one.

"I still don't think you should tell Sarah," she said.

He groaned, shaking his head.

"Michael, you can't. What if she tells Max?"

"What am I supposed to do then, just stay with her?" he lamented. "Is that really what you want? You want me to marry her, start a _family_ with her?"

She shifted uncomfortably, wishing she could be okay with that.

"Didn't think so," he muttered.

"I just don't wanna see you willingly sacrifice the best thing that's ever happened to you," she explained.

"She's _not_ the best thing, Maria," he told her. "You are."

She sniffed back tears. "No, I'm the most confusing thing. There's a difference."

"Stop it," he snapped. "I hate it when you talk about yourself like that."

"Like what?" she asked.

"Like you don't deserve to be loved. You do it all the time."

"Well, I _am_ loved," she pointed out. "Max loves me. And Sarah loves you." Unable to help herself, she reached out and touched his bare chest, putting her hand right over his heart, feeling how fast it was beating. Hers sped up to match the pace. "We'd be idiots to screw all that up," she said quietly, slowly removing her hand.

He gulped. "We already did."

She inhaled shakily, eyes fixated on his chest, heart pounding. God, she wanted to touch him. She wanted to crawl back into that bed with him and forget the rest of the world existed. But that would only amplify the problem even more.

"Don't say anything, okay?" she whispered, lifting her head to look up into his eyes. He was such a beautiful man, and that made this even harder. "Just forget," she told him, thinking that he might be able to push the memory of this night to the back of his mind if he and Sarah made enough memories of their own. And she could try to do the same with Max.

Before he could move any closer or try to kiss her again, she swooped up her purse and headed for the door, determined to actually leave and stay gone this time. Maybe she'd never come back to this place. If Sarah invited her over for dinner, she'd make up an excuse. She'd make up an excuse for everything from here on out. She'd even be a complete bitch if she had to. Anything so that she wouldn't have to be around Michael. It would be too hard to resist him.

"Maria," he said, stopping her on her way out the door.

Reluctantly, she turned back around, just to hear what he had to say.

"I love you." There was this look of desperation all over his face, and it was in his voice, too . . . like he just wanted to hear her say it back. Just once. And she _did_ feel it, of course. But that didn't mean she could say it. She had to take her own advice and forget about everything that had happened today, everything she'd felt. Or at least try to.

For that reason, she left without another word instead of telling him she loved him, too.

...

During the drive home, Maria had time to formulate a lie. She went over it in her head several times, making sure she had her story straight. It was going to be a pretty flimsy excuse for her absence at home tonight, but it was at least plausible.

From the moment she walked in the door, Max was there, hugging her. He seemed relieved. "Oh, I'm so glad you're home," he said. "I was worried."

She blinked back tears, making sure they were all safely tucked back inside when he released her from his embrace. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to go AWOL."

"What happened?" he asked, looking her up and down, as if he just wanted to make sure she was okay.

"Oh, I . . ." She smiled shakily, trying to look more amused than ashamed. "I decided to swing by the library after my shift at the dorms today. I needed a book for this paper I have to write. So I sat down and started reading it, and before you know it, I guess I just fell asleep." She shrugged. "Didn't know I was so tired, I guess."

"So . . ." Max made a face. "You were asleep at the library this whole time?"

She forced a chuckled. "Yeah. Stupid, huh? Somebody finally came and woke me up when they were closing. I was so embarrassed."

"I'm just glad nothing serious happened," he said, squeezing her hand.

"Nope." She tried to smile. "Nothing serious."

"Well, I just got Dylan to bed about an hour ago," he said, "but I was seriously about to call Liz and ask her to come over, so I could go drive around and look for you."

"Oh god." She cringed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

"No, it's fine now," he said. Leaning in, he gave her a kiss on the cheek. That little kiss almost killed her. It was so sweet.

"Well . . ." He cleared his throat. "Guess you probably aren't very tired right now then. You want me to make you a late dinner?"

Actually, she was exhausted, but she wasn't about to turn down his thoughtful offer. "Sure," she said. "Let me just jump in the shower first." After everything she and Michael had done this evening, she definitely needed to . . . clean off.

"I'll have it ready when you come out," he vowed, heading into the kitchen.

Maria watched him for a few seconds, appreciative. He really was a good boyfriend. They'd been back together for over a year now, and she really had no complaints. He hadn't done anything wrong. Not one thing.

"Max?" she squeaked out, feeling the need to apologize one more time. "I'm really sorry."

He just smiled and assured her, "It's okay."

 _No,_ she thought, _it's not._ And if he knew just what she was really apologizing for, he wouldn't think it was okay, either.

...

Maria DeLuca was impossible to forget. Any night spent making love to her would forever be locked into Michael's memory.

He showered, sat up with the TV on for a while, and then tried to go back to sleep after she left, but it was no use. His mind was racing. With thoughts of her. With thoughts of Sarah.

What was he going to say to his girlfriend? She'd be home tomorrow night, which meant he didn't have a whole hell of a lot of time to figure it out. His gut was telling him to confess, tell the truth, be completely honest with her and end their relationship. But what if it hurt her even more than he thought it would? Like Isabel. He'd never imagined that breaking up with her would spur her to go off the deep end, but it had. Sarah definitely _wasn't_ Isabel, but still . . . what if it was something she couldn't bounce back from?

There was another fear plaguing him, too, a worse one. What if she somehow found it in her heart to forgive him? What if his betrayal wasn't enough to make her give up hope for him, or fall out of love with him? What if she wanted to give him another chance? He wanted her forgiveness, sure, eventually. Whenever and _if_ ever she was ready to give it to him. But he didn't want to lead her on and make her think that their relationship could withstand this. Because . . . it just couldn't. His heart was somewhere else, and it had been for a long time now.

He lay awake all night, dreading the conversation he would need to have with her. And it would have to happen tomorrow. Because he couldn't curl up with her in bed and act like everything was alright. Maybe Maria could do that with Max, but he didn't have it in him to fool Sarah like that. Not anymore at least.

His alarm clock buzzed in the morning, a reminder that he was supposed to work an early shift down at the Vidorra front desk. He reached over and slapped the off button, forcing himself out of bed.

The shift was long and monotonous. On a Sunday morning, there wasn't much activity, wasn't much of anything to do. Eventually, the sleepless night started to catch up to him, and he nodded off for a few minutes. His cell phone's vibration in his pocket woke him up, though. When he checked it, he saw he had a text. From _Crazy Girl._ She said she'd be home around 7:00 and that she couldn't wait to see him.

He didn't text her back.

When his shift was over, he returned to his apartment. From the second he walked in the door, his nose was assaulted. It smelled like sex in there. It looked like sex, too. The bed was practically torn apart, and his clothes were still littering the floor. He'd have to do some major cleaning before she got home.

He made his way over to the bed and stood beside it, staring down at the covers, letting the memories of last night drift back into his mind. Memories of his whispered name on Maria's gorgeous lips. Her legs around his waist. His head between her thighs.

Just in case he chickened out on telling Sarah tonight, he peeled off the sheets. He'd go throw them in the wash and put a new pair of sheets on and make the bed. It was the least he could do before she got home. He had to do something.

...

Keeping busy helped Maria keep her mind off of . . . other things. So she cleaned her whole house on Sunday. Dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing the floors . . . everything. She was trying _so_ hard to be focused, though, that she actually got finished quicker than she'd intended to. So she had to find another task to occupy herself, and that task ended up being Dylan's closet. He had a ton of clothes, many of which he didn't even really fit in anymore. She looked through it, and every shirt she decided to discard went in either the Good Will pile or the throwaway pile if it was too shabby to give away.

Halfway through the closet, she got distracted with all the laughter she heard out in the living room. Max and Dylan had ditched the Xbox today and fired up the Wii instead; but it didn't sound like they were playing one of their typical sports games. She headed out of Dylan's room and peeked into the living room to see what they were doing. Dancing, by the looks of it, or at least trying to. It was some kind of dancing game, and Dylan seemed to be winning.

"I'm no good at this," Max said, laughing as he tried to jump and spin around at the same time.

"You're too old," Dylan said, giggling.

"Hey, watch it, I'm not that old," Max reminded him.

"I'm gonna win!" Dylan exclaimed confidently, moving his arms and legs all about.

"No, it's a comeback!" Max declared. "Look, my points are goin' up!"

Maria smiled as she watched them. Both were so engrossed in what they were doing that they didn't even notice her standing there.

If someone had told her three years ago that Max Evans would end up being a good dad, being a family man, she would have said they were crazy. She still wasn't sure how it had happened—his stints in rehab were something he kept mostly to himself—but it _had_ happened. Nowadays, Max loved both of his kids more than anything in the world. They brought out the best in him.

The more she watched them, the sadder she became. Because she knew sleeping with Michael had put all that in jeopardy. There was still a very real chance that Michael would defy her wishes and tell Sarah, and that she would then tell Max. And then their whole little family would come crashing down.

Unable to watch anymore, she slipped back into Dylan's bedroom and shut the door. She tried to make it back to the closet, but she started to cry, and they were the kind of sobs that shook her whole body. She sat down on the floor, using one of the clothing piles as a pillow, and tried to muffle herself. If Max overheard her and came asking what was wrong . . . well, that lie wouldn't be as easy to formulate as last night's lame library one had been.

 _Am I a horrible person?_ she wondered. She really hoped not. She hoped there was a difference between being a horrible person and just making a horrible mistake. But was there? Really?

...

As 7:00 neared, Michael started to become more and more nervous. The sheets were changed and the bed was made, but that didn't erase what he'd done. He still knew, still felt the shame of it swimming around inside. Sarah would be home soon, and she'd be so happy to see him. Until he started talking. Until he told her everything.

He paced around for about twenty minutes, and at almost 7:00 exactly, the door handle turned, and in she came. "Hey!" she exclaimed, dropping her bag down right at her feet. She bounded toward him and leapt into his arms, hugging him exaggeratedly. Then she kissed him, and he felt awful for even letting her do that. Twenty-four hours ago, his mouth had been all over Maria.

"I missed you," Sarah said as he set her down on her feet. She leaned against him, smiling that big, bright smile of hers, always so vibrant. "I know it was only a weekend, but it felt so much longer."

 _You're telling me,_ he thought. His whole world had changed this weekend. Hers, too. She just didn't know it yet.

"Oh, my mom and dad and Victor all say hi," she told him. "The hug was from them. The kiss was from me."

He took a step back from her, trying to be subtle about it. "Did you have a good time?" he asked, not even sure why he was bothering with typical conversation. He needed to just man up and confess.

"Yeah, I did," she said. "It's good to be back, though." She whirled around, stretching her arms above her head, and backtracked into the kitchen. "Oh, I don't know about you, but I'm starving," she said. "Let's make something to eat."

He followed her to the refrigerator, making sure not to crowd her. He just wanted to stand back and watch her for a few seconds, because it was all about to come crashing down.

"Are you in the mood for anything in particular?" she asked as she opened the fridge and peered inside.

"Not really," he mumbled.

Looking back over her shoulders, she grinned suggestively. "You sure about that?"

 _Oh god,_ he thought, panicked. He knew that look. She wanted him. She wanted to have sex with him. No way could he let it go that far tonight. Or ever again. "Maybe . . . Mexican?" he suggested, although he wasn't even sure why he would suggest that. What the hell was he going to do, tell her over dinner? Break up with her over _dinner_?

She looked a little disappointed that he hadn't taken the sex bait, but she didn't make a big deal out of it. "I can do Mexican," she said, grabbing a bag of shredded cheese out of the pull-out drawer in the fridge. "I could make enchiladas," she mused as she checked the cheese package's expiration date. "We haven't had those for a while. Or I could do my nacho casserole. That's quicker."

 _This is gonna kill me,_ he thought. Here she was, thinking it was just a normal night. She had no idea . . . no idea.

Even though it was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life, he took a deep breath and tried to start in. "Sarah . . ."

She was in her own little culinary world, though, oblivious to his distress. " _Or_ I could make Mexican lasagna," she considered. "My dad sent me this really good recipe awhile back, and I've been dying to try it out."

"I need to tell you something," he tried, but his voice was quiet.

"You know what? It's your choice. Totally up to you." She shut the fridge and set the cheese on the counter. "Enchiladas, casserole, lasagna . . . you just tell me."

"I slept with Maria," he blurted. The words burned his throat on the way up.

This stunned look swept across her beautiful face, and for a few seconds, her whole body stilled. There was only silence, the shocked kind, until she managed a confused, "What?"

He felt like crawling in a hole and dying. Who the hell was he to go and hurt this girl? This girl didn't deserve to be hurt. Ever.

She came closer to him, attempting to smile, as though she thought he was joking. But she was a smart girl, and she knew him, so when she looked him right in the eye and saw his seriousness, that smile morphed into a grimace as the truth set in. "Oh my god."

"I'm so sorry," he apologized, his voice a pained whisper.

"Wait, you . . ." She stumbled backward, frowning as she struggled to process it. "You _slept_ with her?"

He gulped.

"When?" she demanded.

He winced, doubting now if he should have told her. This was awful, but he answered anyway. "Last night."

"Last . . ." Her words faded as the tears attacked her eyes. Her jaw trembled with emotion, and she started to cry. "Oh my god," she groaned, covering her mouth with her hand as sobs started to make her whole body shake. She didn't cry for long, though. In fact, as suddenly as she'd started, she just stopped. "What? No, Michael, no," she said. "You didn't. I know you didn't."

That hurt worse than anything had so far. She still had that unwavering faith in him. She trusted him.

"Why are you saying this?" she whimpered. "It's not funny."

"Sarah . . ." He shook his head sadly, wordlessly communicating what she already knew. It wasn't a joke; it wasn't meant to be funny. It was real.

Her mouth dropped open, and the tears started to trickle out of the corners of her eyes again. "What . . . what _is_ this?" she gasped. "What're you . . . I don't—I don't understand. Why . . . you really slept with her?" A strangled sob escaped her, and accusation coated her next question. "You had _sex_ with her?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen," he said. "She just came by and-"

"Oh my god, _here_?" she cut in, her voice cracking with sorrow and outrage. "You slept with her _here_?" Her face contorted in agony as she slumped back against the refrigerator and slid down to the floor, crying heavily now. Her hands shook, and the tears coated her cheeks, as she bent forward, hiding her face in her hands. "Oh, god!" came the muffled cry. "Oh, god!"

 _What did I do?_ he thought shamefully. He'd never seen Sarah look so . . . so broken. "I'm so sorry," he apologized, knowing it wasn't enough. His natural instinct was to get down closer to her, so he did. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Stay away from me," she growled, scooting to the side. She got on her hands and knees, and with what looked to be a great deal of effort, she stood up. He rose to his feet, too, feeling an unfamiliar lump in his throat. He didn't get worked up like this very often, but when he did . . . it hit full force.

"You cheated on me?" she said, still using that desperate, questioning tone, even though there was no question at this point.

He looked away guiltily.

"Have you been cheating on me this whole time?" she roared.

"No, of course not. Last night was . . ." He swallowed that lump in his throat, muttering, "It was the only time."

Her tears ceased, and anger replaced them as she stared at him in utter disbelief. "How could you do that to me?" she demanded. "How could you do that, Michael? We're—we're _engaged_. Look at this!" She held up her left hand, showing him the ring she didn't even know wasn't hers. "We're engaged. Aren't you supposed to love me?"

"I do," he insisted.

"Oh, well, apparently not, because you screwed another girl!" she yelled. "And where, huh? In our bed?" She squeezed her mouth shut as her lips trembled.

He hung his head and walked over to the couch, gripping the back of it with both his hands.

"Oh, I think I'm gonna be sick," she groaned. "How could you _do_ that, Michael? We _just_ slept together yesterday morning _in our bed_. How could you sleep with her? How could sleep with her _right there_?"

"I don't know, okay?" He wished like hell he hadn't. As incredible as it had felt at the time . . . it felt just as bad now.

"Then don't stand there and claim to love me!" she shouted, coming up behind him. "If you really loved me, then-"

He turned around, cutting her off. "Look, I know you're gonna have a hard time believing anything I say right now, but believe me when I say I _do_ love you."

"No, you don't!" she cried.

"Yes, I do. You're amazing." He tried to cup her cheek, but she understandably swatted his hand away. "You're one of the best people I've ever met in my entire life," he went on. "You didn't do anything wrong. This is all my fault."

"Why would you do this then if you love me so much? _Why_?" she wailed. It took her a moment, but finally, brave girl that she was . . . she asked the obvious question. "Do you still love her?"

He winced, not sure if his answer would make things better or worse. "Yes."

Her whole body slouched in defeat. "What's happening?" she wondered out loud.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he apologized again. "But I owe it to you to be honest with you."

"Honest?" she echoed. "That's a laugh."

"I'm sorry." She had to know that it wasn't just some rush of hormones that had made him cheat on her, though. It was something bigger than that, something he couldn't control.

"So have you been in love with her this whole time?" she interrogated. "Was everything between us just a lie?"

"No, it was real. And it was great. But I just . . ." He swore at himself inwardly for not practicing this beforehand, thinking of the easiest, least hurtful way to say it. "I can't ignore what I feel for Maria. It's too strong. And last night . . . I just gave in."

"You _gave in_?" she shrieked. "How long have you known?"

"I don't know."

"Answer the question, Michael," she snapped. "How long have you known?"

"I told you, I don't know. Lately things have just . . ." He tried to pinpoint a certain moment, a certain event that had been the catalyst for this reawakening, but he couldn't do it. Certain things had made it obvious, but what he felt for her . . . it had never _not_ been there. "I couldn't control it anymore, okay?"

"You couldn't _control_ it?" Her voice was piercing, sharp with hysteria. "Is that what you've been doing for the past two and a half _years_ , controlling your feelings for her?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Because it sounds like that's what you're saying. It sounds like you've been in love with her this entire time, and you just settled for me."

"I didn't settle." He reached out to grab her arms, but she adamantly shook his hands away. "I told you, you're amazing."

"You told me you loved me," she ground out. "You made me feel like I was the one. You fucking _proposed_ to me, Michael! But you've known this whole time, haven't you? You've known you were still in love with her, and the only reason you stayed with me is because you can't have her."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, but . . . what if she wasn't? He _did_ love her, honestly, but deep down he'd always known those feelings didn't compare.

"And me . . . I'm so stupid," she said regretfully. "'Yeah, Michael, take classes with your ex-girlfriend. Work with her. Invite her over for dinner. I trust you.'" She glared at him and shook her head angrily. "God, I'm such an idiot."

"No, you're not." She'd been the most gracious, understanding, patient girlfriend a guy could ask for. She'd never once been judgmental or jealous . . . even when she should have been. Some people just didn't have those qualities in them. "You're just . . . you're too good for me."

"So does that mean Max is too good for Maria?"

He rolled his eyes, not about to dive into _that_ portion of this predicament.

"God, no wonder you always hated him so much. He's dating your dream girl," she bit out angrily. "And here I actually thought she and I were friends. Could I _be_ any more naïve?"

It wasn't that she was naïve, even though she felt that way; she was just innocent. In twenty-one years, the world had never turned its back on her. Until now. Until him. Some of that innocence was going to be gone now, or at the very least, damaged.

"God, I just—I feel so . . ." She trailed off, staring to pace around now much in the same way he had before she'd gotten home. "I just don't understand why you would do this, and I don't understand why this is happening, and it's not fair. I don't want this."

"I'm sorry." Out of all the stupid things he'd done in his life, this one ranked right up there with his mistake with Dylan. It was something he'd never be able to apologize for enough, something she'd probably never forgive him for. "I wish . . . I just wish I'd done things differently. I screwed everything up."

Her feet slowed, and eventually, she stopped right in the middle of the floor, her body angled towards their bed. She stared at it hopelessly, lamenting, "Is this really happening right now?" as if she wanted it all to be some horrible nightmare and nothing more.

 _It is,_ he thought sadly. _I'm so sorry, baby. So sorry._

She turned back around, her eyes boring straight into his. "I hate you."

That was okay. He hated himself.

She stormed past him, picked up the bag she'd left at the door, and headed out.

"Sarah, wait!" he called after her. But it was too late. She was gone. And since he had a pretty good idea where she was going, he didn't try to go after her.

His whole body ached. With remorse. Blame. It felt like tiny little shards of his heart were stabbing him from the inside, and the fact that he felt this bad made him feel even worse about how _she_ had to be feeling.

 _But at least I told her,_ he thought, trying to remember that this had _needed_ to happen, that it was the right thing to do after doing so much of the wrong thing. Unfortunately for her, his honesty was a little too late. But better late than never.


	60. Chapter 60

Even though Tess had bought a bunch of baby books and insisted he read them, Kyle found himself easily distracted. He sat up in bed that evening, books cast aside, but at least he was still doing something baby-related. He was looking up names on his phone. Though they hadn't found out the genders yet, they had a plan in mind: They were each going to come up with one girl name and one boy name. That way, no matter what they ended up with, they were covered, and it was fair.

He was in the middle of browsing through the H names for boys when the doorbell rang. He set his phone aside, got out of bed, and strode out into the hall. Tess was already answering the door, and from the second she opened it, the night took a turn. Because there was Sarah, mascara and tear tracks running down her cheeks. She practically collapsed into Tess's arms, balling her eyes out, and Kyle didn't even have to hear anything to know what must have happened. He'd never seen Sarah cry like that before. She looked . . . devastated.

Didn't take a genius.

He gave them space as Tess hauled Sarah over to the couch and sat down with her. Sarah started telling her what had happened, but it was hard to make out much of what she was saying. Not that Kyle needed to hear it. He already knew, so he slipped back into the bedroom, picking up his phone, checking to see if he had any texts from Michael. He didn't.

For at least an hour, Sarah and Tess didn't move off the couch. They just sat together and cried. Sarah did most of the crying, of course, but Tess joined in, too. Kyle made some tea for both of them and listened from the kitchen. It wasn't easy to think of Michael doing that to Sarah, cheating on her. And it wasn't that he'd just kissed Maria, either. The fact that he'd actually had _sex_ with her really seemed to be eating away at Sarah's heart.

Kyle overheard a lot of things he didn't want to, things like how it had just happened last night, how they'd done it right there in the bed. It infuriated him on Sarah's behalf. Tess was more vocal about her anger, though. Anytime Sarah said something disparaging about herself, Tess quickly jumped in and slung out an insult at Michael instead. Or Maria. Or both of them. She was heated, but Sarah was just heartbroken.

"It all just happened so fast," Sarah bemoaned as Kyle put a blanket over her lap. "It's crazy, isn't it? You spend so much time getting to know someone and building a life with them, and then in the blink of an eye . . . it's all over."

Tess rubbed her shoulder, curling up under the blanket with her. "I'm sorry, Sarah," she said. "I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better."

Sarah took a sip of her tea and shook her head. "There's not," she said. "I've never felt worse than I do right now. I feel like I'm dying. Melodramatic, I know."

"No, I get it," Tess said, casting a quick glance up at Kyle. He wondered if, even though he'd never cheated on her, perhaps he'd once made her feel the same way.

"He's the love of my life, Tess," Sarah whimpered.

"Maybe he's not. Maybe there's someone better out there for you."

"But I just want Michael." A few of Sarah's tears actually dripped down into her cup, and she set it aside on the end table. "But I guess he doesn't want me."

Tess grunted angrily, grumbling, "I can't even believe him. He's such a loser. How could he do this to you? You've done so much for him."

"Not enough." Sarah looked down at her lap, all her usual liveliness gone from her. "I'm not Maria."

"Yeah, you're not a lying slut," Tess said. "Be grateful for that."

Kyle shifted uncomfortably. He understood why it was so easy for Tess to jump to Sarah's defense—they were best friends after all. But instead of sitting there with them, he wanted to go see how _his_ best friend was doing. He wasn't the monster Tess would now want to make him out to be. But still, what he had done was very, very wrong.

"I'm gonna go make you something to eat," Tess said, getting to her feet. "What do think? A sandwich?"

Sarah shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

"Well, I'll just make it in case you do get hungry," Tess said, giving her shoulder one more gentle squeeze before she headed into the kitchen, subtly motioning for Kyle to follow her.

When they were out of earshot from Sarah, Tess muttered, "Unbelievable. How is this happening again?"

 _How did I let this happen?_ Kyle wondered. He knew it wasn't his fault, but he felt like he could have done more, _should_ have done more. He'd known that Michael's feelings for Maria were more than friendly. He shouldn't have backed off of his suspicions. He should have found a way to get through to him, making him see that he had to end things before something like this happened.

"I mean, cheating on Isabel was one thing," Tess went on, "but I thought he'd grown up since then. And how could he cheat on _Sarah_? She's so perfect for him. Maria can't even compare. God, I hate her. She's such a homewrecker."

Kyle sighed, feeling like he shouldn't say anything. If he agreed with her, then she'd feed off his anger, but if he didn't agree enough, then she'd get pissed at him, too. "It's . . . crazy," he said vaguely. "I was thinkin' I might go check on Michael."

"Why? He's not the wronged party here," Tess reminded him. "He's the cheater."

"Yeah, but he's still my best friend." It didn't matter what Michael did, what mistakes he made. At the end of the day, Kyle would never turn his back on him. Ever.

"Well, he's not _my_ friend," Tess huffed. "Oh, and I'll tell you what else he's not: our children's god-father. Or your best man. He's lost the right to both those special titles."

"Tess . . ." Now really wasn't the best time to be making those decisions.

"What?" she spat. "I'm serious, Kyle. I don't want him having anything to do with our family."

The last thing he wanted was for this whole thing to start an argument between the two of them, so he calmly suggested, "How about we talk about this some other time? You go comfort Sarah; I'll go check on Michael."

Irritated, Tess rolled her eyes. "Whatever." And then she headed back into the kitchen without the sandwich she'd promised to make, so Kyle headed out.

...

The whole apartment felt different to Michael now. It felt . . . depressing. As electrifying as his night with Maria had been, this night with Sarah had been an all-time low. He sat on the couch wallowing in it. No TV. No phone. No anything. Just him and his thoughts. And his regret.

There was never a good way to break a girl's heart, but there had been a better way. He could have ended things with her first. He could have still been honest with her about his feelings for Maria, but it would have hurt less that way. Because at least then she wouldn't have had to live with the knowledge that he'd _cheated_ on her.

Why did he do this to girls? He didn't want to.

 _Self-control,_ he thought, figuring he had none of it. These past two and a half years of college had all been a façade. Underneath all of the studying and the grades and the scholarships was the same reckless, impulsive kid who'd always managed to make a mess of things in high school. He was still that same guy. He probably always would be.

That wasn't exactly a happy thought.

Shango roamed around the living room, probably needing to be let out to go to the bathroom once more tonight. But Michael hardly even felt like he had the energy to get up off the couch, let alone walk down three flights of stairs and stand around outside.

When there was a knock on the door, his energy level picked up a bit. He thought that maybe it was Sarah—but then again, why would she knock? So then he thought maybe it was Maria. Maybe she'd told Max tonight, just like he'd told Sarah.

He got up and answered the door, but it was only Kyle. "Hey," his friend said.

"Hey," Michael returned, leaving the door open as he treaded back to the couch and sat down again. "So I take it you heard."

"Yeah." Kyle shut the door and slowly shuffled to the couch, hands in his pockets. "She's over at my house right now. On my couch. Crying. A lot."

It hurt to even picture it, but Michael had assumed that was where she would go. And that was good. At least now he didn't have to worry about her driving around while she was upset.

"What the hell, man?" Kyle groaned. "I knew this was gonna happen. But you told me not to worry about it, so I backed off. Turns out I shouldn't have."

"It's not your fault," Michael said. Kyle had tried to warn him.

"Oh, I know that. But still . . . I'm pissed," Kyle admitted. "Not at myself, at you. Sarah's a . . . she's a pretty special girl, and I can't believe you'd do that to her."

"Me, neither." Michael swallowed hard, wishing he could go back in time and do things differently. "Trust me, it sucks hurting one of the people you care about most in the world. No wonder she hates me."

A silence settled upon them for a few seconds, and Kyle sounded contemplative when he broke it. "This is . . . different than it was with Isabel," he said. "Because you and Sarah . . . it's just different."

Michael nodded sadly in agreement. It was different because it was more serious. Isabel had been his girlfriend, sure, but Sarah was his fiancée. They'd been together for a long time. They lived together. They had a whole life together.

"So what does this mean then?" Kyle asked. "Are you and Maria back together now?"

Michael almost laughed, because it would never just be that simple. "No," he said. "She doesn't wanna tell Max. But I felt like I had to tell Sarah."

Kyle nodded solemnly. "So now you lost 'em both, huh?"

He hadn't thought about that, but . . . hell, here he was by himself. Neither one of them would wanna talk to him ever again. "I guess," he said, letting the misery over that fact mix in with all the crap he already felt. What if that one night with Maria was all he ever got? What if he'd just thrown away a relationship with a girl who loved him for a girl who wouldn't leave her boyfriend's side?

It just got more and more depressing, didn't it?

"Look, Kyle . . . I really just need to be alone right now," he said. On some level, he was appreciative that his friend had stopped by, but . . . he felt really ashamed about everything, and it was easier to deal with that shame when no one else was around.

"Alright," Kyle said, turning to leave. At the door, though, he stopped and turned back around. "I _don't_ hate you," he said. "But I am disappointed."

Michael didn't even look at him as he left. But man, he sure had that fatherly thing down, didn't he? Wasn't that what parents always said to their kids? Good parents, anyway. It wasn't what his dad would have said to him. No, if his dad had still been alive and had found out about this, he would've called him a stupid son of a bitch, maybe told him to go to hell. Probably would have lectured him about what a fucking loser he was. And this time . . . he wouldn't have been wrong.

...

Monday. Maria usually hated Mondays, but this was a particular Monday she was looking forward to. She was hoping that it would bring about a return to normalcy. And for a while, it did. She dropped Dylan off at school, ran some errands, paid some bills. But that was done soon enough, and then she was left with nothing but time to think. And dwell.

Picking Dylan up from school was a bit more nerve-racking than dropping him off was, because she knew Michael was usually there on Monday afternoons. She sat in her car, trying to be inconspicuous as she waited for her son to exit the building. When she saw him, she got out of the car.

"Hey, you," she said. "How was school today?"

"It was alright." He opened up the back door the car and tossed his backpack on the floor. "Kinda boring."

"Boring, huh?" She waited until he climbed into his car seat to lean into the back and stretch the seatbelt across his lap. "Yeah, some school days are like that," she said, casting a worried glance over her shoulder. Still no sign of him. That was good. Redirecting her attention to her son, she asked, "Did you learn anything new?"

Dylan shrugged. "Not really."

"Got any homework?"

"Nope." He grinned proudly. "Oh, but I got the friend circle tomorrow. With Micho."

She stilled as she snapped his seatbelt into place. _Right,_ she thought. _Circle of Friends._ There was still that. And next year, there would still be football practice and football games. It wasn't like she could cut him out of her life completely, not without cutting him out of Dylan's.

She shut the door and let out a shaky sigh as she looked for Michael one more time. There were plenty of people outside—kids loading onto the bus, adults helping to direct traffic, teachers who were eager to leave—but no Michael Guerin. So maybe today wasn't something to worry about. But maybe tomorrow was.

...

Michael stood behind the glass doors at the entrance of the school, watching as Maria searched for him. She probably wasn't hoping to find him, and since these windows were tinted, she wouldn't. He could have easily gone out there and said something to her, told her he'd confessed to Sarah. But this wasn't the time or place. It was public, and Dylan was around.

"Ahem."

He tensed when he heard Vanessa come up behind him and clear her throat. He'd effectively managed to avoid her all day until now.

"Can I speak to you?" she asked sternly.

Oh, this didn't sound good.

He followed her into her office and she shut the door as he sat down. "What's up?" he asked casually, pretending he had no idea what she could possibly want to talk to him about.

She sat down across from him, not at all casual. "You wanna tell me what I interrupted the other night?" she asked. But it wasn't a request so much as it was an order.

"What do you mean?" he played dumb.

"After the dance. You and Maria. You two looked pretty close," she remarked.

 _We got closer,_ he thought, knowing he had to remain nonchalant, like it was no big deal. Like what she'd walked up on _wasn't_ the prelude to six hours of non-stop sex the next night. "Oh, we were just dancing," he replied. "For old time's sake. It was nothin'."

She narrowed her eyes at him, obviously skeptical. "I told you to keep it professional," she reminded him.

"I am," he lied.

"No, slow-dancing with a student's mother is not professional," she reprimanded him. "And besides, don't you have a girlfriend of your own?"

 _Not anymore,_ he thought. But that was none of her business. "It won't happen again," he promised, pushing his chair back. He stood up, noting that she still had that skeptical look on her face, even as he left the office. Oh, if she'd known just how _un_ professional he and Maria had been, then she probably would have told him not to come back.

...

When Michael got back to Vidorra, he felt on edge. It hadn't really dawned on him until today that, even though he'd told Sarah the truth, he was going to have to keep lying to other people. He didn't like pulling the wool over Vanessa's eyes, but it wasn't like he could just tell her the truth. And what about his mom and his sister? They would wonder why he and Sarah were no longer together. What was he supposed to tell them?

When he got off the elevator and stepped out onto the third floor, he was wracking his brain, trying to come up with some kind of way to explain to his family what had happened without _really_ telling them the complete truth. The only thing that could have—and did—distract him from this was an alert to Sarah's presence. He didn't see her, but he did see Tess standing outside the door to his apartment, arms crossed over her chest like a defiant little guard dog. Clearly that meant Sarah was inside, but he asked, "Is she in there?" as he trundled down the hallway anyway.

"She's getting some of her stuff," Tess replied coldly, barely even looking at him. She backed up towards the door, making it even more impossible for him to get around her.

"Let me in, Tess."

"No, she doesn't need to see you right now. Anything you say is just gonna hurt her more."

Oh, fuck, he was in no mood for this. "Sarah!" he yelled, reaching over and around Tess to pound on the door.

"Back off, Michael!" Tess snapped, shoving him backwards with surprising strength. "I'm serious. I'm pissed and I'm pregnant. You do _not_ wanna mess with me."

Just then, the door to the adjacent apartment opened, and a guy poked his head out. "Is everything alright out here?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's fine. Just-" Michael didn't finish his sentence as the door to his place slowly opened, and Sarah peeked out.

"It's alright, Tess," she said, her voice hoarse. "Let him come in."

"Are you sure?" Tess asked.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. You can go wait in the car."

Tess sighed reluctantly, obviously not happy with the decision, and shot Michael one more death glare before getting out of his way and heading down the hall. The neighbor guy, apparently sensing that this was none of his business, went back inside and closed his door, too.

Michael followed Sarah back inside, surveying the mess that was currently his place. There were clothes and little odds and ends strewn all about. An open suitcase lay on their bed, unzipped but full of clothes, and two full duffle bags sat at the foot of the bed.

"So you're leavin'?" he asked. To be honest, he hadn't expected this so soon.

"Well, we can't very well both stay here, can we?" she pointed out.

"So that's it then? You're movin' out?"

"I don't know, Michael," she snapped, throwing her arms up in the air. "I haven't thought that far ahead. You know, just last night I was happily engaged. Things changed kinda fast."

He exhaled heavily, hating that he was causing her all this stress in addition to all this pain. "You don't have to go," he said. "It's my fault. I can leave."

She grunted, pulling the top of her suitcase shut. "Do you really think I wanna stay here?" she growled, struggling to zip it shut. "Do you really think I could even sleep in this bed right now? Trust me, this is the _last_ place I wanna be."

He supposed he could understand that, but still . . . he was going to feel like an even bigger ass than he already was if she was the one who had to go live on someone else's couch for the rest of the semester.

Hesitantly, he stepped closer to her, helping her zip her suitcase shut. "I didn't mean for it to end up like this," he mumbled quietly. "I know you probably don't believe me. You have no reason to. But it's true."

"How _did_ you want it to end then?" she questioned hostilely.

"I wanted us to be together," he claimed.

"Really? Or did you just wanna get over Maria? See, I had a lot of time to think about it last night, and I think that's why you started dating me in the first place. You just wanted to forget about her. But you didn't. And now I realize you never will."

He shook his head, resenting the way that sounded. "You make it sound like I used you."

"Well, didn't you?"

"No. I fell in love with you. It's impossible _not_ to fall in love with you."

"But it doesn't matter," she yelled, "because in the end, you still love her more! You chose her over me when you slept with her." Tears shot her eyes, and she said it again, as if she were trying to get used to saying it. "You _slept_ with her."

He hung his head, wondering if the shame from this would ever go away. He doubted it. It would have been easier if Sarah was just some random girl, but she wasn't. She was . . . she was Sarah.

"No one has ever hurt me this bad before, Michael," she said, obviously fighting to keep the tears inside. "No one." Shango waddled up to her suddenly and pawed at her feet. "Oh . . ." she whispered, bending down to pet him. For some reason, petting the dog made her start to cry. Maybe because he was the closest thing they had to a kid, and now she was faced with the dilemma of giving him up.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered.

"You know what?" She stood back up, wiping off her tears. "I'm already sick of hearing you say that. They're just words, Michael. All the apologies in the world can't take back what you did."

"But I _am_ sorry." If nothing else, he had to make sure she knew that.

"It doesn't matter!" she shouted. "I gave you everything I had—my heart, my body and soul—and it wasn't enough for you!" She glared at him, shaking her head with contempt. "I lost my virginity to you. I said yes to your proposal. These are huge, monumental things in my life that I will _never_ get back, because you took them from me."

"It was real, though," he insisted. "Our first time together . . . that wasn't a rebound. That was all about us."

"And what about our engagement?" she bravely asked. "Was that all about us?"

He'd told plenty of lies today, so he wanted to tell one more. To her. About this. But he couldn't. Something in him just couldn't lie to her anymore.

"You knew even then, didn't you?" she said, her voice shaking. "You knew you were still in love with her when you proposed to me! Just admit it!"

"I . . ." _Oh, shit,_ he thought. _What the hell did I get myself into here_? "I had a feeling," he confessed.

She sniffled, nodding as if she'd expected that. "You know what then?" She twisted off the ring and stormed over to the window. "I don't want this," she growled. "This is worthless." Before he could do anything about it, she pushed open the window and tossed it out into the parking lot.

"No, Sarah . . ." His heart lunged at the thought of that ring being gone forever. Not because it was hers, but because it wasn't.

"That's how much your love means to me," she grumbled, slamming the window shut. She pushed past him, grabbed her suitcase with one hand, and hooked the straps of her duffle bags onto her other arm. Completely loaded down, she struggled out the door, and he was too fixated on the demise of that damn ring to even offer to help her. Not that she would have wanted his help anyway.

...

There was a problem: Whenever Maria shut her eyes, even for just a few seconds, all she could think of was Michael. Even though she swore to herself she'd keep her distance, she kept having these phantom feeling of his hands all over her body, on her hips, threading through her hair. His lips on her neck, tongue massaging her skin . . .

"Are you alive?"

Maria snapped herself out of her daze when Liz came to join her in the kitchen. "Barely," she said, trying to refocus herself. Liz had brought Scarlet over tonight. Scarlet and Dylan were playing. Max was playing with both of them. It was utterly adorable, the kind of thing that would touch the heart of a girl who wasn't stuck fantasizing about an ex-boyfriend.

"Insomnia?" Liz guessed.

"Something like that." The past few nights had definitely been brutal—just a few hours of sleep here and there. Eventually, her body was going to just give out, and she was going to have to sleep the night through. Maybe tonight would be that night. If she was lucky.

"That sucks," Liz said. She nodded her head in the direction of something on the counter behind Maria and remarked, "That's a pretty necklace."

"What?" Maria looked back at the treble clef necklace Michael had given her for her birthday. She'd gotten it out earlier with the full intention of throwing it away, but for some reason, the counter was as far as it had gotten. "Oh, thanks," she said, sensing an alternative disposal method. "Do you want it?" she offered. "I really don't wear it anymore."

"Sure, I'll take it," Liz said. "I'll give it to Alex."

Maria handed it over. "You think _he'll_ wear it?"

Liz laughed a little and put it in her pocket. "He can give it to his next girlfriend as a gift," she said.

"What if his next girlfriend turns out to be Isabel?"

Liz shrugged. "Better than Leanna, I guess."

"Yeah." Maria frowned. She didn't know Leanna at all, but she knew that Liz harbored a massive dislike towards the girl. Did that mean that Alex did, too? "Do you think he's forgiven her?" she asked, trying not to sound as nosy as she was actually being. "Leanna, I mean."

"Probably," Liz replied, "but only because he's a really nice guy. For most people, I don't think it's that easy. I think most people can't ever _really_ forgive someone who cheats on them."

Maria nodded slowly, making sure her facial expression didn't betray her. No nervousness, no panic. But the thought of that really did freak her out. If forgiveness wasn't an option, then that was all the more reason for Max to never know.

...

Nightfall had set in a long time ago. Michael wasn't sure how long. He didn't care. If he had to stay out there all damn night, he'd do it. There was no way he was going to stop until he found that ring.

He scoured the parking lot with a flashlight that was gradually growing dimmer. Some people who walked by just ignored him; others stared at him as if he were crazy. He probably looked crazy.

He searched under cars, around them, even got up close and personal with a storm drain. But that ring was nowhere in sight.

"Michael?"

 _Brody,_ he registered, but he didn't even stop, didn't even glance up.

"What're you doing?" Brody asked. No doubt he'd glanced outside and wondered what the hell he was doing.

"I'm lookin' for something," Michael replied, stating the obvious.

"For what?" Brody questioned.

"Just . . . something, okay? I gotta find it." He saw something shiny by the back wheel of a red Honda, and eagerly, he rushed over to see if it was the ring. But it was just a sparkly rock. Huge letdown.

"Why don't you come inside?" Brody suggested. "Whatever it is, you can look for it in the morning."

"No, you don't understand. I can't just . . ." He trailed off helplessly when an SUV sped into the parking lot, making a crunching sound as it rolled over . . . something. He knew even before he ran over to check it out that it was exactly what he'd been looking for this whole time.

He bent down, devastated to see that it was in pieces now. How many cars had rolled right over it without even realizing? The diamond was crushed, and the band was broken in half and flattened. Unsalvageable.

"What is that?" Brody asked.

As lame as it was to get emotional over some stupid piece of jewelry, Michael had to sniff back tears. "It's nothin'," he muttered, pocketing the shattered remnants.

...

Maria was so relieved when her academic advisor could squeeze in an appointment with her Tuesday morning . . . but she was less relieved when they started talking. Because she had one very big, one very important question, and she didn't like the answer she was getting.

"So you're telling me there's no possible way I can switch classes?" she asked again, just to make sure.

Her advisor, a very nice but very blunt woman whom she hadn't ever sat down with until today, shook her head. "No. The other Music Appreciation class is full. And even if it wasn't, it's too late in the semester now to drop and add a class."

"Well, what if I paid some kind of late registration fee or something?" Maria suggested feebly.

"I'm sorry. There's nothing you can do," her advisor reiterated.

" _Nothing_?" There had to be something, didn't there? If not, then this was a devastating blow, one that she wasn't certain she could absorb. Shoulders slumping, she asked, "So what are my options then?"

"Well, you can either stay in the class, or you can drop it."

Inwardly, she cringed. "What if neither of those options sounds very appealing?"

"Well, then . . . I'd say you have a tough decision to make."

Maria sighed heavily. _Great,_ she thought. _Fan-fucking-tastic._ What the hell was she supposed to do now? Taking college classes, even just one of them, had been a huge ambition of hers for years, one that had seemed unattainable at one point. She didn't want to just toss that aside. But she couldn't stay in that class with Michael.

The decision was still very much up in the air when she left her advisor's office and trudged back across campus to the parking lot. She tried weighing out the pros and cons of both her options, but they just seemed about equal. She had no idea what to do.

"Maria."

 _No,_ she thought, reluctantly slowing to a stop mere feet away from her car. _Not now._ Did he have to wait until she was in the worst, most stressed out mood to confront her?

"What?" she groaned, keeping her back facing him.

Poor Michael. He sounded unusually awkward as he mumbled, "I sat through an entire music class today."

"You mean the class you don't even have to take?" If anyone _should_ have been sitting in there, it should have been her. He should have been the one talking to his advisor, making the arrangements to drop the class. Problem solved. But he wouldn't do that. He was too stubborn.

"I kept hoping you'd show up," he admitted.

She shook her head frustratedly, slowly turning around. "I told you, we need to put some space between each other," she said, unable to stop her own eyes from roaming all over him. "Literally and metaphorically." Even though he didn't look his best—looked like he hadn't slept in days—he still looked . . . enticing. Hard to resist.

"I need to talk to you," he said, coming closer.

She backed away. "No."

"Please," he begged. "It's important."

"Oh, so important that we have to go up to your place, right?" she guessed. This was so transparent.

"Look, I'm not tryin' to screw you right now, Maria. I just wanna talk," he insisted.

"You never just wanna talk."

"I do this time," he insisted. "Come on." He motioned towards Vidorra with his head and even started to walk in that direction.

"No, whatever you need to say, you can say right here," she told him defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Right here?" he echoed.

"Yes."

"You sure about that?"

" _Yes_." So what if they were in the middle of a parking lot? It was safer out here. She couldn't very well jump his bones in front of all these other people, could she?

"Alright, fine," he said. "I broke up with Sarah."

Maria nearly lost her balance; it felt like the whole ground shifted underneath her. "What?" she spat, looking around worriedly. Suddenly the idea of having so many other people mulling about this parking lot concerned her, because what if they overheard? Or worse, what if they already knew? "What did you tell her?" she demanded, her voice a hushed, panicked whisper.

"Everything," he replied.

She felt a lump form in the back of her throat, and it took a minute for any words to get past it. "I thought we agreed not to say anything."

"No, you agreed," he corrected. "I couldn't do it."

"So she . . . so she knows that we . . ." Maria trailed off, shakily gasping for breath. "Oh my god, Michael," she breathed nervously. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm tired of lyin' to her. It was eatin' away at me inside. I had to tell her."

"No, that was so stupid." Normally, she wasn't one to insult Michael's intelligence, because she knew what a smart guy he actually was. But this wasn't a smart thing to do. Not at all. In fact, this threatened to ruin everything. "You shouldn't have done that," she scolded adamantly. "You're gonna regret it for the rest of your life."

"No, it was the right thing to do," he argued.

"The right thing would've been to never sleep with me in the first place!" She raked one hand through her hair, horrified by this new development. "God, I can't believe you!" She really had assumed that he would keep his mouth shut, if for no other reason than the fact that that was what she'd asked him to do. But maybe she should have known better. Michael didn't take orders from anyone, not even her.

"I can't believe you haven't told Max," he retorted. "I mean, if you guys are half as close as you say you are . . ."

"We _are_ close," she insisted.

"You're lying to him! How close can you possibly be?"

"My relationship is _my_ business," she growled. "Don't try to tell me what to do."

"Why not? You tried to tell me. You tried to make me lie to her," he pointed out. "And now you're just pissed 'cause I didn't do it."

"I was just giving you a suggestion."

"And I didn't take it. So cry me a fuckin' river, Maria. Sarah knows. Deal with it."

"Deal with it?" she echoed furiously. "Do you have any idea how precarious things are for me now? She could tell him. She could tell Max everything. Or she could say something to Liz." As close as she and Liz were, there wasn't a doubt in her mind that Liz was still closer to Max. They had a loyalty, a bond, because they had a daughter. If it came down to it, Liz would be honest with him. Liz was just an honest person. "God, Michael, there are _so_ many ways this could get out now."

"It already has."

She gave him a curious look.

"Kyle and . . . and Tess," he mumbled. "They know."

Kyle wasn't a concern at all. But Tess, on the other hand? _Major_ concern. Bigger than Sarah, even. "Oh, that's great, Michael," she said sarcastically. "Because Tess Harding hates me. And now she probably hates me even more. If there's anyone who would just be _itching_ to tell Max everything, it's her."

"She won't say anything," he assured her.

"Oh, really? Are you positive about that?"

Apparently he wasn't, because he fell silent for a few seconds. Finally, he said, "I'll talk to her. And Sarah. I'll make sure they don't tell."

"Do you really think they'll listen to you?"

He shrugged. "It's worth a shot."

 _A shot?_ she thought. That wasn't good enough. She needed an absolute, undoubted guarantee that he could get through to those two girls, that he wouldn't stop until he did. "Michael, you have to promise me . . ." Her mouth started to shake as the fear rose up inside her. If either Tess or Sarah _did_ say something, it wouldn't end well for her. She'd break Max's heart, break up their family. And who knew how it would all turn out? "It's not myself I'm worried about here," she whimpered.

"Yeah, I know," he muttered. "It's Max."

"And Dylan." She knew that, if there was one person Michael loved as much as he loved her, it was that little boy. He'd do anything he had to do to protect him. Jump off a bridge. Rope his ex into keeping quiet. Whatever it took. "Think about him," she urged. "He's gone through so much in six years. I don't want him to have to go through this, too."

Clearly conflicted inside, Michael thought about it for a moment and then sighed heavily. "I'll talk to 'em," he promised. "But for the record . . . I think you're makin' a mistake."

 _Noted,_ she thought, but she didn't intend to change her mind. She understood why it was wrong to keep this huge secret from Max, but at the same time, she needed Michael to understand why it might also be wrong to tell him the truth.


	61. Chapter 61

Michael spent the day at work, counting down the hours until he could leave and then _really_ go get something done. Not something he wanted to do, but something he felt like he had to do. Because despite how much he would have loved for Maria to just tell Max herself and get this whole thing out in the open . . . she didn't want that. She wanted to keep her family intact more than she wanted to be with him. It wasn't exactly a happy thought.

He drove over to Tess and Kyle's place, dreading the conversation that awaited him. He knew he had no right to ask Sarah to have his back on this. He knew it would anger her even further. But what choice did he have? If either Sarah or Tess told Max what they knew, then Maria might never forgive him.

Kyle came outside as he was getting out of the car, immediately cautioning, "I don't know if you wanna go in there right now. They're venting. There's ice cream involved."

"I need to see Sarah."

Kyle exhaled heavily. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

From the moment he stepped inside, he heard Sarah and Tess gabbing. Laughing, even, the way girls did when they were trying to turn their backs on mankind altogether. The laughter stopped abruptly, though, when he stepped into the living room. Sarah fell completely silent, and Tess erupted. "What the hell, Kyle?" she blared. "I thought I told you not to let him come over here! He's not welcome anymore."

"Tess . . ." Michael said softly. As protective as she was over her best friend, at the end of the day, this wasn't about her.

"No, don't talk to me!" she yelled. " _You_ are an intolerable jackass who doesn't deserve the time of day. You're not our friend anymore. We don't want anything to do with you."

"Good thing I'm not here for you then."

She marched right up into his face and kept on fighting him. "Well, I'm not gonna let you traumatize my best friend anymore! Don't you think you've done enough damage?"

Thankfully, Sarah finally got up from the couch and said, "Tess, it's okay. I can handle this. You should just relax."

"Don't worry about me," Tess told her.

"I do, though. You're pregnant. You don't need to get all worked up."

"I'm fine," Tess insisted.

"I'll be fine, too." Sarah gave her an appreciative hug, then cast an uncertain glance at Michael. She picked up an afghan off the back of the recliner, wrapped it around her shoulders, and sulked down the hallway towards the back door. Michael followed her, feeling the heat of Tess's death glare boring into the back of his head as he went.

Once they were outside and it was just the two of them, it felt like they could actually have a conversation. Maybe not a pleasant one, but they could at least talk without being interrupted. And if Kyle managed to keep Tess away from the window, the could even talk without being spied on.

"I promise I won't keep doin' this," Michael began, knowing it couldn't be easy on her to see him. It was hard even for him to see her, to see that look of pain and hurt in her eyes. "I'll give you space."

"Good," she said, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders as the wind whipped past. "Because seeing you every day . . . it just makes it really hard to feel even the slightest bit better."

"Sorry." He honestly wouldn't have even been there right now if he hadn't . . . if he hadn't promised Maria. It always came back to Maria for him.

"This better not be another forgiveness attempt," Sarah warned.

"It's not." If she ever found it in that beautiful heart of hers to forgive him, he'd be forever grateful for it. But if she didn't, he'd understand. Cringing, he said, "Don't hate me, alright?"

"Too late." Her expression didn't change as she stared at him. "I already do."

"Then don't hate me even more." His stomach twisted into knots as he got to the point. "I need to ask you a favor."

She didn't say anything for a moment. Then her whole body shook as she laughed at the ridiculousness of that. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. Well, this oughta be good. What is it?"

"I need you . . ." He paused, groaning as he forced himself to say things he really didn't want to. "I need you to not tell Max. About any of this."

" _You_ need that?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow. Smart girl that she was, she saw through him right away. "Don't lie to me, Michael. Lord knows you've done that enough. This isn't a favor for you; it's for Maria. You're only here because of her."

Well, there was no point in denying it then, not if she already knew, so he didn't even try. "She doesn't want him to know," he mumbled quietly.

"Oh, of course not. Affairs are so much more fun."

"We're not . . . we're not having an affair," he informed her. "She's stayin' with him."

"And lying to him." She shook her head sadly. "Poor guy."

"Don't-" He still couldn't tolerate any sympathy for Max, no matter how nice these girls thought he was these days. "He's a bad guy. Don't feel sorry for him. He doesn't deserve it."

"Doesn't deserve a girlfriend who cheats on him, either," Sarah quickly pointed out. "And for the record, Michael . . ." She narrowed her eyes at him and suggested, "You might wanna look in the mirror the next time you say Max is a bad guy."

 _I'm not like him,_ Michael told himself. Sure, he'd done some pretty unspeakable things lately, but still . . . it didn't compare to what Max had done to Dylan. It didn't compare to almost killing the kid.

The last thing he wanted to do was fight with Sarah about the merits or demerits of Max fucking Evans, so Michael decided to just let it go. "Are you gonna tell him or not?" he asked, cutting back to the chase.

She shrugged. "I hadn't even thought about it. I assumed Maria would."

 _Yeah,_ he thought sadly. _Me, too._ Saturday night, when he'd woken up in that destroyed bed and found Maria frantically searching for her clothes, he'd figured that she would be upset about it all, but that she'd tell him the truth. Because Maria didn't like to lead people on. If something needed to end, she would just end it. Just like she'd ended things with him once.

But apparently this was different.

"Don't you _want_ me to say something?" Sarah asked pointedly. "Deep down inside? Don't you wanna have her all to yourself?"

Of course he did, and of course she already knew that. "I'm thinkin' about Dylan here," he said, knowing that Maria had outright manipulated him today. By bringing up that little boy, she made him second-guess himself, his own decisions. But he'd still go along with it. For now, at least. And maybe eventually she wouldn't be able to keep it a secret any longer, and she'd have to tell him herself.

"Max is gonna find out we broke up," Sarah pointed out. "He's gonna wonder why. He's gonna be suspicious, even if I don't say anything."

"It's none of his business," Michael said. "We broke up. That's it. That's all he needs to know. That's all anyone needs to know."

"Unbelievable," she grumbled, shaking her head in dismay. "You cheat on me, break up with me, and now you wanna pull me into this whole cover-up?"

"I just wanna spare Dylan the heartache."

"No, you don't. You want him to be your son," she said almost accusatorily. "It's all so clear to me now. I don't know how I never figured it out before. I'm _so_ stupid."

"You're not-"

"This is obviously what Maria wants," she cut back in. "And you just wanna stay on her good side."

She definitely wasn't wrong, not in anything she was saying. But her knowing that and him owning up to it right in front of her were two completely different things. He just wanted this whole conversation to be done. "Are you gonna say anything or not?" he asked again. If she intended to tell Max, he had to give Maria some warning so that she could do it herself.

For what felt like a long time, Sarah stood out in that back yard with him, contemplating it. He could see the conflict in her eyes. She was a good person, so on an honest, human level, of course she wanted to tell him. But she was logical, too, so she had to understand the reasons not to. At last, she relented, "Fine, I won't say anything. Not because of Maria, not because of you. I'll keep my mouth shut because there's a child involved. A sweet, innocent child who doesn't deserve to have his family torn apart over this. A child who already has a father and doesn't need you."

He winced, absorbing that shot.

"But that's the only reason," she growled, making it clear that this had nothing to do with any residual loyalty towards him.

"Thank you," he said.

"What about Tess, though? She might say something."

"Not if her best friend tells her not to." As pissed as Tess was, if Sarah talked to her and calmed her down, she'd stay quiet, too. And as a mother-to-be, surely it wouldn't be very hard for her to agree to spare Dylan all this drama.

"Fine," Sarah grunted. "But I'm _not_ lying to my family, Michael. I'm telling them everything."

 _Everything?_ He dreaded the thought of Sarah's parents and her brother, the brother who practically idolized him, finding out what he was _really_ like. "They're gonna hate me," he said, wishing she'd reconsider.

"Good."

He sighed, nodding reluctantly. There was nothing he could do. If Sarah wanted to tell her family, if she wanted to tell _anyone,_ then she had that right. Hopefully her parents wouldn't say anything to his mom. Hopefully they'd just keep it quiet, and then his own family never had to know.

He started to head back inside, but he thought better of it when he remembered that Hurricane Tess was still in there. So he decided to just walk around the side of the house and bypass her altogether. When he was just about in the front yard again, Sarah came scampering up behind him and called his name. "Michael?"

Hands in his pockets, he turned back around.

Her hair flew about her face wildly as the wind picked up. "If I ever find out you and Maria hook up again . . ." She glared at him, unblinking, unflinching. "Then I'll tell Max everything."

He gazed at her intently, sensing the seriousness of that threat.

...

Shango was probably the only creature in the world that would greet Michael as happily and eagerly as he did when he got home that night. He came up to him and tried to jump on him, yipping and yapping and trying to lick his hands.

"Hey, buddy," Michael said, scratching him behind the ears. This was why dogs were awesome. Unconditional love and all that. It didn't matter to them whether you made mistakes or not. The best part of their day was _always_ the part when you came home.

Michael stopped to turn on the TV, then trudged over to the bed and flopped down on his back. Today had been long. Today had been stressful. Today had been hard.

What if all the days were like this from now on? And what if all the nights were like this? Lonely, isolated. Just him and his dog. His loveable dog.

Shango must have been gaining too much weight, because he struggled to climb up onto the bed with Michael, and Michael actually ended up having to lift him up. Once he was up there, though, Shango settled in right beside him and started nuzzling him, and for some reason, that made him feel a little better.

He shut his eyes, feeling like he could just fall asleep. TV still on, clothes and shoes still on. He didn't even have his head on the pillow, but he didn't care, because sleep sounded like the perfect escape right now from the horrible reality that was his life.

Unfortunately, just as he was feeling that he could nod right off, his cell phone rang. He reached into his pocket and took it out, glancing at the caller.

 _Mom._

His immediate thought was, _Oh, shit._ Sarah had probably called her parents and told them everything. And they'd called Krista. And now she was calling him, and she was going to be _so_ upset with him.

Part of him contemplated not answering, but then he knew she'd only call back. So he took the call. "Hello?"

"Michael," she said, a sense of urgency to her tone. "Come quick."

He sat up, immediately concerned. "What is it?" he asked.

Her next words chilled him to the bone. "It's your sister."

...

Usually it took Michael about an hour and fifteen minutes to get from Carlsbad to Roswell—a flat hour if he sped. But when the whole point of going to Roswell was to get to the hospital and be there for the birth of his nephew, the drive only took fifty minutes. He was lucky he didn't get pulled over.

It faintly registered with him as he raced through the hallways, trying to find his sister's room, that he hadn't been at that hospital in years. Not since Dylan had fallen off the bridge.

"Mom!" he called as he finally turned down the correct hallway.

"Oh, Michael." She hugged him when he came up to her, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank God you're here."

"Is she doin' okay?" he asked. When his mom had called him, she'd sounded pretty damn freaked out that this was all happening so soon, and it made him worry that maybe there was something abnormal happening.

"Yeah, she's alright," his mother replied. "The contractions are starting up already, though."

"Yeah?" He'd didn't envy his little sister for having to deal with those. He didn't envy her at all right now. These next few hours would be the most demanding, exhausting of her young life. "You know, you really scared me," he told his mom. "I thought something was wrong."

"Well, this isn't supposed to be happening yet," she pointed out. "She's supposed to have four more weeks. I'm a little nervous."

"Yeah, but babies are born premature all the time, and they're fine," he assured her.

"I know. It just worries me," she fretted.

"Wasn't I born a month early?"

"Yes."

"And see? I turned out alright."

She touched his cheek lovingly. "You turned out perfect."

 _Perfect? Not by a long shot,_ he thought, turning away from her touch. "Can I go see her?" he asked.

"Yeah." His mother pointed out the room and patted him on the shoulder. "It was good of you to come. She'll be happy to have you here."

 _I hope so._ If Tina was happy to see him, that would make her one of the _only_ people in the world who wanted anything to do with him right now.

He slipped into her hospital room, flashing her a grin. "Hey, you."

"Hey." She was sitting up in the adjustable bed, both hands on her enlarged stomach. Her hair was all fixed up, and she had makeup on. If it hadn't been for the hospital gown, she would have looked like a girl going to homecoming. "Well, this was unexpected, huh?" she said. "I bet you didn't picture yourself here tonight."

"No, but that's alright." He stepped up to the side of her bed, wondering why there wasn't another male figure in here with her right now. "If this baby wants out, let him out."

She groaned as if she were dreading it. "I wish it was that easy. But I think this is gonna suck."

"Yeah, well, they call it _labor_ for a reason."

"I guess." She grunted, shaking her head. "God, you _guys_ have it so easy. Why do girls have to do this part?"

"Maybe 'cause you're tougher than us?" he guessed.

"Yeah, that must be it." She laughed a little, but soon enough, her amused expression turned into an agonized one, and she started to squirm in pain.

"Contraction?" he asked.

"Yeah, it hurts."

"Here." He grabbed her hand, and she squeezed it tightly, so tightly that it actually caused _him_ some pain, too. Not that he was about to complain. For about thirty seconds, she rode it out, and then, as if someone had just released their death grip on her, her whole body relaxed, and it was over.

"So where's Nicholas?" he couldn't help but ask. Hell, if there was anyone's hand she should've been squeezing, shouldn't it have been the baby's damn father?

"He went to a concert with his friends tonight," she explained. "I called him, texted him."

And he still wasn't there? That seemed strange. "You hear back yet?"

"No," she admitted. "But he'll be here. He promised he'd be here."

Michael didn't like the sound of this. He remembered Maria telling him about Dylan's birth, how Max had promised he'd be there, but instead, he'd never shown. He didn't want that for Tina, but he feared it would happen. "You want me to call him?" he offered.

"Yeah, sure," she said, smiling gratefully. "Thanks."

He let go of her hand and grabbed her phone off the bedside table. "Hang in there," he said encouragingly as he left the room. His mom was down the hall at one of the vending machines now, so he felt free to speak candidly when he got a hold of the little twerp.

Unfortunately, he only got voicemail. _'Hey, it's Nicholas. Leave me a message.'_

Michael swore inwardly when it beeped. "Hey, Nick, guess what?" he said faux-cheerfully. "Your girlfriend's havin' your baby. Leave that fucking concert and get your ass to the hospital _now_."

...

Even though Maria had her eyes closed, Max must have known she wasn't really asleep. He crawled in behind her on the bed and left the light on, opting to wrap his arms around her and move in close rather than lie down and go to sleep.

"Sneaky, sneaky," she said as his arms encircled her midsection.

"Mmm," he moaned, moving her damp hair aside so he could kiss the back of her neck. "You smell good."

"Well, I just showered," she pointed out.

"You always smell good," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. He started to touch and kiss her shoulder, and she had to make sure her body didn't tense up.

"Oh, I think this is gonna be a long week. I'm already exhausted," she said, hoping he would get the hint that she wasn't in the mood for sex tonight. But he didn't. He just kept pressing gentle, adoring kisses to her skin, giving her a few hints about his _own_ desires.

Thankfully, her phone vibrated on the nightstand as she received a text message, a much-needed distraction. "I should check that," she said.

"I got it." He reached over her, picked up her phone and slid his thumb across the screen to unlock it. "It's from Michael," he said.

"What?" She flipped over onto her back, immediately on edge.

"He said Tina's havin' her baby," Max revealed as he read the text. "That's his sister, right?"

"Yeah." She relaxed a bit, thanking her lucky stars that there _wasn't_ anything incriminating in that text. She was going to have to be careful about that, though, maybe put a passcode lock on her phone.

"Want me to text him back for you?" Max offered.

"Sure. Just say . . ." She pictured Tina, young little Tina, in the hospital, about to become a mom, and it was surreal. Had she had that phone in her own hands, she would have sent him back a more substantial message. But with Max as the one sending it, she figured it best to keep it simple. "Just say 'I hope it all goes well,'" she told him.

He grinned and quickly typed out the message with one thumb. "Should I add 'From Max'?"

"No."

"He'd hate that." He sent the message for her and then tossed her phone down to the foot of the bed. "There you go." He scooted in close to her again, rubbing his legs against hers beneath the covers, smoothing his hands up and down her sides.

"Now I'm thinking about her," she said, still making no move to let her hands explore any part of him. If she just seemed distracted enough, or tired enough, or just plain disinterested enough, he wouldn't put any pressure on her. He'd slip into the bathroom and take care of it on his own, and she'd be spared a night of inevitably comparing sex with Michael to sex with him.

"She's really young, huh?" Max remarked.

"Yeah." Eighth grade was . . . well, it made tenth grade sound old in comparison. Maria knew the poor girl's fear level must have been through the roof. In the months leading up to it, you let yourself become confident, maybe even feel like you were prepared. But once that baby was on its way, then and only then did you realize how screwed you really were. "She must be so scared."

"Like you were?" Max asked quietly.

"Yeah." Maybe if he'd been there, she wouldn't have been so scared. Maybe if she'd had his hand to hold, or if he'd been the one to cut the umbilical cord . . . maybe that would have helped.

"I'm sorry," he apologized as if he were reading her mind.

"It's okay," she assured him, able to look back with forgiveness now. They'd both done horrible things to each other over the years. He'd made mistakes, but she'd made some, too. The only difference was that his were public knowledge, whereas hers would hopefully always remain a secret.

...

Michael fiddled with the adjustable bed, wishing there was room for him on there. If you got it going fast enough, it was almost like a ride. It looked awesome. But Tina wasn't in the best condition to appreciate the fun of it right now.

"How you holding up, sweetie?" their mother asked.

"It hurts," Tina groaned leaning forward in the bed.

"I know, but just remember, it'll all be worth it in the end."

Tina rubbed at the tears in her eyes, smearing her makeup. "How did you do this _twice_?" she asked in astonishment as the bed rose up and down. "Wasn't once bad enough?"

"Oh, when you finally get to hold your beautiful little baby," their mother said, smiling at the both of them, "you just forget all the pain."

"All of it?" Michael asked, pressing a button on the side of the bed to make it go lower. Tina finally just reached out and whacked his hand away.

"Well, most of it," his mother amended.

Tina adjusted the bed back to her liking and leaned back. "Can I talk to Michael for a minute?" she asked.

"Sure." Krista bent down and kissed the top of her head. "I'll be right outside."

Michael reached out for the bed controls once again as she left, but Tina quickly swatted his hand away. "What do you need?" he asked when it was just the two of them.

"Drugs," she grumbled.

"They already gave you drugs. What else?"

She sighed, looking down at her lap languidly. "Nicholas," she whispered.

Michael shifted uncomfortably. He had a damn good feeling that little bastard wasn't going to show, but he didn't want to tell her that.

"Where is he, Michael?" she cried. "He should've been here by now."

"I can keep calling," he offered. At this point, he'd already left about six voicemails, each one slightly more infuriated than the last.

"What if he doesn't come?" she worried.

"Then I'm here. Mom's here," he pointed out. "Don't worry, you're not alone."

"But I want Nicholas."

He sighed, wishing his presence was enough. But he was only this kid's uncle, and even though that was meaningful in its own right . . . having the father there was more important. "Maybe he's on his way right now," he said, trying to lift her spirits up.

"Hopefully," she said as tears slid out the corners of her eyes. She just sat there with him for a moment, silent, almost . . . calm, if that was possible. Then she looked at him curiously and squeaked out, "Hey, Michael?"

"Hmm?"

Frowning, she asked, "Where's Sarah?"

His heart sped up, and his stomach clenched. _Sarah?_ What was he supposed to tell her? This wasn't exactly the time or place for _that_ conversation. But clearly she sensed that something was wrong.

Thankfully for him—and unfortunately for her—a contraction hit, giving him a reason to not have to answer that question. She yelled and screamed as it twisted her up inside, and her hand clasped onto his with a strength he'd never known her to have. This one lasted a little longer this time, and the next one was sure to come a little sooner. This baby was on its way. It wouldn't be one of those marathon deliveries. No, he'd probably be there in a few hours. And hopefully Nicholas would be there, too.

Michael left the room after the contraction had passed, and he tapped his mom on the shoulder in the hallway. "Swap out?" he suggested.

She smiled at him and gave his arm a gentle squeeze as she went back in. Tina was crying now, so she shut the door.

Michael sighed, raking one hand through his hair, wishing the timing of all of this was different. He knew Tina couldn't control when this baby came out, but part of him wished it was happening a month from now, the way it was supposed to. That way he would have had time to talk to both her and his mom about his split from Sarah. They wouldn't have been wondering why she wasn't there. He wouldn't have had to avoid answering. They just would have known.

Now _what_ they would know was still up in the air. As much as he didn't want to lie to either of them about what all had gone down, he didn't exactly want to own up to the truth, either.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed a certain scrawny, pathetic teenage boy roaming down the hall, hood over his head, hands in his pockets. Once he caught sight of him, though, he immediately wanted to throttle him. "Hey!" he roared, stomping towards him. He tore the hood off his head and yelled, "What the hell, man? What're you doin' out here?"

"I just got here," Nicholas mumbled.

"You _just_ got here?" He glanced down the hall at the clock. "How late did that concert go, huh?"

Nicholas shifted his weight from side to side, all nervous-looking. "I just needed a little time," he said.

"Time to what?"

"To think."

"Yeah, well, you should've done that before you had sex in the first place." Michael was well aware that he was being a hypocrite, but in that moment, he didn't really care.

"I'm pretty freaked out," Nicholas admitted, hanging his head as if he were ashamed.

"Don't you think Tina is, too?" Michael pointed out. "You don't get to be freaked out right now. She's the one havin' the baby, which means _she_ gets to be scared. _You_ have to be strong. So go in there and be strong for her. Be a man."

Nicholas nodded hurriedly and stepped past Michael, stopping in front of the closed door. He didn't go in there. He just stood there like an idiot.

"What's the hold-up?" Michael asked impatiently.

"It's just . . ." Nicholas slowly turned around, his eyes wide with fear. "What if I'm no good at this?" he wondered.

"At what?"

He shrugged. "Bein' a dad."

Michael surveyed the kid—the _kid_. Even though he was a freshman in high school, he still looked young enough to be in middle school. He was a kid who was having a kid, and that had to be head-spinning.

"How am I supposed to know if I'm ready?" he scraped out, his voice thick with emotion.

Gradually, Michael felt a bit of his anger fade, and he actually felt sort of sympathetic. "I think you just . . . know," he replied.

"Did you know?" Nicholas inquired.

He thought of Dylan, thought of that absolute certainty he'd always felt with him. The same certainty he felt when he'd coached him out on the football field, ate lunch with him during Circle of Friends. "Yeah," he answered, smiling fondly. "Yeah, I knew."

Nicholas didn't look particularly relieved to hear that, probably because he still _didn't_ know if he was ready, didn't have that feeling. So Michael felt the need to assure him that he'd still be alright. "Look, Nick . . . I know it _sounds_ overwhelming," he empathized. "And sometimes it is. But when you have a son . . . that love you feel for him . . ." He remembered what it had felt like to hear Dylan call him Daddy for the first time, or to tuck him in at night when he wore his Guerin football jersey to bed. "It's the best feeling in the world." A bond like that, no matter how far or how long it was stretched apart . . . it never went away.

Nicholas gulped and nodded.

"Now go be a father," Michael urged him. There was a girl in that room who needed him, a girl who, even though she was young, really did love him. He needed to be there for her.

Once Nicholas went into the room, he didn't come out. More people started to go in, though, mostly nurses who were monitoring Tina's dilation status. His mom came out into the waiting room about an hour later, sobbing hysterically, worrying that something was going to go wrong, and he had to console her and get her calm again so that she could go back in there and be by Tina's side during the delivery. Mom on one side, boyfriend on the other. Tina would have plenty of hands to hold onto.

At 2:09 p.m., they moved Tina down the hall to one of the actual delivery rooms. Michael got to squeeze her hand one last time and tell her he loved her before she, Nicholas, Krista, and the doctors and nurses disappeared inside. And then it was all about waiting. And waiting some more. For over an hour, he waited, passing the time with stupid cartoons on TV and junk food from the vending machine. He could hear screaming coming from down the hall, and he wasn't sure whether it was Tina or somebody else. But it sounded unpleasant.

At 3:31, a nurse in pink scrubs came out into the waiting room and tapped him on the shoulder as he was about to fall asleep. "Excuse me," she said. "You're Tina's brother, right?"

"Yeah." He sat up straighter, immediately on edge. Was it over? Was everything alright?

The nurse smiled at him. "Would you like to come meet your nephew?"

 _My nephew,_ he thought, breathing a sigh of relief. _I have a nephew._ It was unreal.

When he went into the room, he was hit with this immediate sense of astonishment when he saw the baby in his little sister's arms. He was bundled up in blue blankets and had a knit cap on his head. Tina had him cradled up against her chest, and Nicholas was sitting next to the bed, stroking his newborn son's cheeks with his fingertips. Krista was taking a lot of pictures on her phone and crying happy tears.

"Look, Joe," Tina cooed to her son, "look who it is. It's Uncle Michael."

Michael smiled and stood at the foot of the bed. "Joe?" he echoed.

"Yeah." She shrugged. "Simple, I know, but we both like it."

 _Joe,_ Michael thought. _I like it._ He liked him.

"He's so beautiful," his mother marveled.

"I know." Tina gazed at him adoringly, then looked up at her mom. "You were right," she said. "It's all worth it."

 _This is crazy,_ Michael thought, his mind whirling. Tina was a mom now. She was only fourteen years old, but she was a mom. Which meant _their_ mother was now a grandma, and she still had a couple months until she turned forty.

 _Crazy._

"Congrats, Teenie," he said, suddenly feeling like his nickname for her was too childish. She looked older now, instantly.

"Thanks," she said, smiling up at him. "Do you wanna hold him?"

He inhaled sharply. For some reason, the thought of holding a baby always made him nervous. "Sure," he said, not about to turn down his first chance to hold his own nephew, though. He moved up closer to the head of the bed, bent down, and held out his arms. Tina carefully handed little Joe over, and Michael held him close to his chest, rocking him back and forth a little.

"Wow," he whispered when the little guy opened his eyes and looked right up at him. He had brown eyes just like Tina and him. He looked like them.

"Let me get a picture," his mom said, stepping back, holding up her camera.

Michael glanced at her for a moment, then looked right back down at the baby. His mom took a few pictures as Tina said, "He likes you, Michael."

 _I hope so,_ he thought. For a guy who had a history of fatherly feelings, he'd never actually been around babies all that much. This would be a first.

As much as he already felt like he loved that little boy . . . he felt something else, too. Envy. Pangs of it. Was that weird to _envy_ two teenaged parents? Because even though he was an uncle now, he wanted this moment for himself someday. He didn't _just_ want to be an uncle for the rest of his life; he wanted to be a father.

...

Kyle yawned as he trudged out into the hall. He saw flashing lights from the television screen in the living room, and when he walked out there, he saw that Sarah was awake, sitting up on the couch, remote control in her hand.

"Already up, huh?" he remarked as he padded into the kitchen.

"I never went to sleep," she said, turning down the volume.

He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water for himself. "You want something to drink?" he asked.

"No, I'm good. Thanks," she replied.

He shut the fridge, and instead of taking the water back to the bedroom like he'd intended, he shuffled into the living room and sat down next to her instead.

"So did you hear that Tina had her baby?" she asked.

"Yeah. Michael's been texting me all night." He still could hardly wrap his mind around it. He'd known that girl his whole life. It was hard to fathom her having a kid of her own now.

"Krista sent me a picture," Sarah told him, "of Michael holding the baby." She smiled sadly, lowering her head. "I guess she doesn't know that . . . you know."

"Yeah." He unscrewed the lid of his water bottle and took a drink. He had no idea what Michael would end up telling his mom about the break-up. He hadn't gotten to talk to him much since the whole thing had gone down.

"I'm sorry, Kyle," Sarah apologized suddenly. "I know this must be really hard on you."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you and Tess have babies of your own on the way. You should be focusing on that, not on taking care of me."

"No, it's no problem having you here," he assured her quickly.

"Maybe not for Tess. But it's different for you," she noted. "Michael's still your best friend, even if he's not my boyfriend."

"True." He was glad she understood that, that she was _level-headed_ enough to understand that and not resent him for it. "But look, Sarah, even though he's my friend, it's not like I approve of what he did to you."

"I know," she said. "But it must be hard for you to hear Tess saying she doesn't want him to be a godparent anymore. And stuff like that."

He sighed heavily. "Yeah," he admitted. "You know, if anything ever happened to me or Tess, you and Michael are the people I'd trust my kids with. Isn't that what a godparent's supposed to be?"

"It is," she agreed. "So if that's what you want, don't worry about me. It won't offend me if you still ask both of us."

"Good to know."

"So talk to Tess," she urged, "change her mind. You've got a few more months. I'll be out of your hair well before then."

"You're not _in_ my hair," he reminded her. His eyes drifted to the TV for a few seconds to see what she was watching—some cooking show that probably wasn't _really_ holding her interest. "So what's your plan?" he inquired.

She grunted. "Who knows? Just find a small apartment off campus, I guess. Finish out the semester. Go home and spend the summer with my family."

"And then what? Come back?"

She thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't really thought that far ahead. But I _could_ go to school in Las Cruces, close to home. Or I could transfer up to Albuquerque for my senior year. I mean, I'm gonna have to do four years of pharmacy school up there anyway."

For someone who hadn't thought that far ahead, it sure seemed to him that she had a lot of ideas. But nothing sounded set in stone. "So in other words, the future's kind of a great unknown to you right now," he summarized, wondering how Michael would feel if she left Carlsbad at the end of the semester and didn't come back.

"Yeah. Ironic, huh?" She laughed a little. "Miss Prepared, Miss Organized, Miss Planned-Out . . . no idea what she's doing."

"Hmm." He could relate to that. Sometimes the best laid plans just exploded. Maybe because of an unfaithful lover. Maybe because of a paralytic injury.

"Don't tell Tess, though," she implored. "I don't want her to know I might not always be here."

He nodded, silently making that promise. Tess had other things to focus on right now. When and if the day came that Sarah needed to leave, it would be hard on her. But he'd be there to help her through it.

...

"Am I ever gonna get to hold my son?"

Michael walked around the hospital room, holding a sleeping Joe in his arms. "Maybe," he answered, grinning. He was getting pretty attached to the kid. They all were. Even though Joe had been a month early, he weighed a good amount and seemed perfectly healthy, so he didn't have to be hooked up to machines or kept in an incubator.

In the corner of the room, they'd pulled out a cot, presumably for the father of the child to sleep on, but Nicholas had left a while ago and had yet to come back, so Michael took a seat there with Joe instead. "So where's his dad?" he asked, a bit of bite to his words.

"He went home to shower and change," Tina said. "But he'll be back."

"Huh." _He'd better be,_ Michael thought. It was almost 5:30 in the morning now, and the kid had to be tired. But if he went home and fell asleep or something . . . there'd be hell to pay. "Did he ever tell you why it took him so long to get here in the first place?" he questioned, if only to know whether Nicholas had been honest with her.

"Yeah. They had car trouble on the way home from the concert," Tina replied.

"Ah." He wasn't about to burst her bubble and let her know that was a lie, not today. But he'd file that information away and share it with her down the line if need be.

"But at least he got here in time," Tina added. "That's all that matters."

Michael nodded skeptically, looking down at the sleeping baby in his arms. He had his little hands up by his mouth, his fingers curled. "So why Joe?" he asked.

Tina shrugged. "Why not? It's a cute name."

"His middle name should be Cool," Michael suggested. "Then he'd be Joe Cool Guerin."

Tina giggled. "I don't think so. Besides, he's already got a middle name."

"Oh, yeah?" He'd been waiting to hear it.

She smiled at him. "It's Michael."

His eyebrows darted up in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Well . . . that was really flattering, and not at all something he had expected. "Joe Michael Guerin," he said, testing out the full name.

"Crawford, though," she corrected.

He gave her a look. "Really? You're givin' him Nick's last name?"

"Yeah, of course," she said softly.

He sighed, hating that. Maria had given Dylan Max's last name at first, but then she'd had it changed once it became apparent that Max wouldn't be in the picture. And hopefully now it never changed back.

"I should give you a break," he said, getting to his feet. "You need sleep." He brought Joe over to his little crib and set him down carefully, making sure he was swaddled up tightly. The nurses said they would bring him down to the nursery once Tina was asleep.

"Hey, Michael?" Tina said quietly.

"Yeah." He spun around.

Cocking her head to the side, she once again asked the question he was dreading. "Why is Sarah not here?"

He froze up, literally and figuratively. His words just failed him completely, because he had no idea what to say. If he told her the truth, she'd be upset. If he didn't, she'd be suspicious. "Don't worry about it," he finally mumbled, turning to leave the room.

"That's not an answer," she called after him.

He stopped in the doorway, contemplating just walking out. But what good would that do? Yeah, he'd buy himself some time, but she'd just ask him again the next chance she had. Tina knew him better than most people did, so naturally she knew that something was wrong.

"Look, Teenie, you just had a baby," he said, turning back around. "Focus on that, alright?"

"Are you guys still together?" she inquired outright.

The question must have just been a formality, or one last shred of wishful thinking, because at this point, it had to be obvious. If he and Sarah had still been together, there was no way she _wouldn't_ have been there. "No," he told her quietly. "We broke up Sunday night."

"What?" she gasped. "Why?"

"We just . . . thought it was for the best." He cringed inwardly at the flimsy reasoning. There was no way she was going to buy that.

"But you were engaged," she pointed out.

"And now we're not." He didn't mean to sound flippant, but at the same time, he didn't want her probing too deeply. If she asked more questions, then it would be harder and harder to lie. And she was one of the last people he wanted to lie to.

"Michael, what did you do?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

 _Shit._ She knew, didn't she? Still, he played dumb. "What do you mean?"

"Did you do something?" she asked sternly. "With Maria?"

He tried to have no reaction to that name . . . but his silence must have said it all.

"Oh god," she groaned, shaking her head. "Did you guys, like, kiss or . . ." She trailed off, as though she didn't _really_ want to ask the question. But she didn't have to. When he looked away and kept his damn mouth shut, she understood. "Oh."

 _Yeah. Oh,_ he thought. It wasn't nice to know he was continuing to set such a horrible example for his younger sister. She'd given her son his name as a middle name, so clearly she looked up to him. And he just continued to let her down. "Don't tell Mom, okay?" he pleaded. "I don't want her to be disappointed in me." He'd already dealt with plenty of parental disappointment for one lifetime.

She didn't say anything. She didn't even look at him. It was a weird thing, in that moment, because even though he knew she loved him . . . she seemed disappointed in him, too.


	62. Chapter 62

Feeling completely lethargic, Maria staggered into Parker's Pastries, very much requiring a boost. "Liz, I'm in desperate need of a sugar high," she complained. "Got anything here that'll do the trick?"

"Oh, _everything_ here will do the trick," Liz ensured. "But if I may suggest . . ." She pulled a tray of cupcakes out of the display case. They were all topped off with purple frosting done so intricately that it looked like flowers on the top. "Freshly made," she boasted.

"Perfect." Maria took one of the cupcakes and bit in eagerly. "Mmm, that's the stuff." After a restless night and arduous morning, this was going to hit the spot.

"Hey, so I'm glad you stopped by," Liz said, removing one cupcake for herself before she placed the tray back into the case. "I wanted to show you something."

"Oh, yeah?" Maria took another bite, covering her mouth when she asked, "What?"

"Well, Sarah and I are Facebook friends, you know, and last night, I noticed something bizarre." She took her phone out of the pocket of her apron and quickly navigated to something. "Look," she said, holding it out for Maria to see.

Maria tilted the phone in the right direction so that there was no glare hitting the screen. Liz was showing her Sarah's Facebook page, zoomed in specifically to her relationship status. It now said _Single_ instead of _Engaged._ "That's weird," she said, barely looking at it for two seconds.

"Yeah. What's up with that?"

 _I'm what's up with that,_ Maria thought guiltily, setting her cupcake down on the counter. Suddenly, she was just not so hungry anymore. "I don't know," she replied dumbly. "Do you?"

"No, that's why I'm asking you."

"Well, why would I know anything about it?"

"I just thought maybe you'd heard something, or maybe Michael had said something," Liz explained, giving her a curious look.

 _Don't be defensive,_ Maria told herself. She had to have a completely non-impassioned reaction to this so-called 'news.' "No, I—I haven't even seen Michael in days," she fibbed, "so I'm as surprised as you are."

"Huh. I wonder what happened." Liz made a face. "I'm being nosy, aren't I?"

"A little bit." Hopefully she wouldn't dig too deeply.

"But it's just wild. I mean, he just _proposed_ to her, like, a month ago."

"Well . . . maybe they felt like they were in over their heads with that." Maria shrugged, having no idea what story Michael intended to send around.

"So then call off the engagement, not the entire relationship," Liz said.

"Well, maybe they _are_ still together."

"They're not."

"Yeah, according to _Facebook_."

"Which is actually a surprisingly reliable source."

Maria sighed, needing an escape route from this conversation. "Look, I don't know why they broke up then," she said. "It could have been anything. Let me know if you find out. I have to go." At a much brisker pace than she'd entered with, she turned and started walking away.

"Bye," Liz called after her.

Smiling weakly, she waved on her way out the door.

...

Michael's mom yawned as she sat down next to him with a cup of coffee in her hand.

"You tired?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. It's been a long thirteen hours," she said, taking a sip, wincing at the hotness. "At least everyone gets to go home tomorrow, though. That'll be nice."

"Yeah," he agreed. These waiting room couches were like prison beds. Nicholas had managed to drag his ass back, so he'd taken up residence on that cot in Tina's room. That pretty much left Michael and his mom with no choice but to stay out here, unless they wanted to go home. But neither one of them wanted to do that while Tina and Joe were still there.

"So where's he gonna sleep when they get home?" Michael asked.

"Who? Nicholas or Joe?"

"Joe," he clarified, frowning. What the hell? Just how far had Nicholas managed to worm his way into her good graces?

"He'll be in Tina's room for a while," his mom replied. "We got the crib set up on Saturday."

"Perfect timing."

"Yeah, really."

"But you're gonna let Nicholas stay there, too, huh?" Her house, her rules, he supposed. But he still didn't like the thought of it. One in five teen moms gave birth again before age twenty. He'd learned that one in social psychology class.

"I'm gonna let him sleep on the couch for a few weeks, just to make sure he's around to help out," his mom said. "Or I could let him sleep in your room."

Michael detested the thought of it. "Nah, he's fine on the couch."

His mom laughed a little, blowing on her coffee to cool it before taking another sip. "So where's Sarah?" she finally asked.

All the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up, like a marching band at attention.

"I kind of thought she'd be here for all of this."

 _So did she,_ he thought regretfully. Maybe he should have been in communication with her, just so she knew what was going on. She loved Tina a lot, too. Hell, for all he knew, Tina may have been thinking about making her the godmother.

"Michael?" his mom said.

He snapped himself out of his daze and said, "Well, it's a month earlier than we thought it'd be."

"Right. But has she even called?" his mother asked. "I don't even think I've seen you text her."

Truth be told, he'd been banking on his mom being _so_ consumed by her new grandson that she wouldn't even notice. But there wasn't much his mom didn't notice. There were just certain things she chose not to draw attention to.

"She's really busy right now," he said. "You know, with classes and work."

"But this is her nephew, or at least he will be once the two of you tie the knot," she pointed out. "I don't know, I guess I just . . . I'm surprised she's not here. That's all."

 _Don't be mad at her; it's my fault,_ he thought, wondering how Sarah would react if she received a call or a text from his mom, asking where she was. Maybe she'd just tell her the truth.

"Is everything okay between the two of you?" his mother asked, not intrusively, but sensitively.

Even though he would have loved for her to be blissfully ignorant to the whole thing, clearly she was already suspicious, just like Tina had been. "Not really," he muttered in response.

"Not really?" She reached over and stroked his hair lovingly, concerned. "What's wrong?"

He leaned forward, hanging his head, placing his elbows on his knees. "Okay, look, I didn't say anything because . . . 'cause there was just more important stuff goin' on," he started in. "But you should know . . ." He took a deep breath, bracing himself for her inevitable unhappy reaction. "Sarah and I broke up the other night."

"You _broke up_?" she echoed incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

 _Because I'm a jackass,_ he thought. _'cause I screwed her over when I screwed another girl._

Even though she hadn't gotten an answer to her previous question, she went right ahead and asked him another one. "Was it her decision or yours?"

"Mine, I guess."

"Well, why would you do that?" Clearly she was trying hard not to sound mad, but there were still traces of accusation in her voice. "She's . . . the love of your life!"

"She's not the love of my life, Mom," he mumbled, figuring he could just leave it at that.

"Then who-" She stopped short as realization dawned. "Oh," she said, much in the same way Tina had. "I see."

 _Do you?_ he wondered. His mom, bless her heart, thought way too highly of him, even given his history as an amateur alcoholic and frequent womanizer. Chances were, she didn't suspect just how _colossally_ he'd screwed things up.

"So you still have feelings for Maria then," she concluded, letting out a shaky sigh. "Oh, my."

Michael frowned. She sounded . . . scared. Like the thought of him ending up with her _frightened_ her somehow.

"Well, I guess you had to break up with Sarah then," she said, still giving him the benefit of the doubt. "You owed it to her to be honest and fair."

Michael snorted. Honest and fair. Yeah, right.

"I'm not gonna lie, though . . . my heart's breaking a little," his mother admitted. "I love Sarah. She fit in so well with our family."

 _That's because she's Sarah,_ he thought. The girl could fit in with anyone and everyone. She was that type of person who was just universally loved and admired. Maria . . . wasn't. But he loved her all the same.

"Do you think you might get back together?" his mom asked, a heartbreaking hopefulness in her voice.

"No," he said quickly.

"No?"

He swallowed hard. "It was a bad break-up."

"Well, I'm sure she was devastated," his mom emphasized. "I mean, you guys just got engaged not at all that long ago. This is a pretty drastic turn of events."

He nodded, wishing he'd handled things differently. If he could go back in time, there were a million things he would have done differently. First off, he would have never proposed. Second, he would have broken up with her _before_ hooking up with Maria. Maybe he never even would have gotten involved with her in the first place, just to spare her the heartache.

When he looked over at his mom, he noticed her dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. "Are you crying?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, sniffling back tears. "It makes me really sad. You two were together for a long time. You built a life together; you had a future. And this just feels like it's coming out of nowhere. And _Maria_ . . ."

"You loved her, too, once," he made sure to point out. Maybe his dad had never hopped on that bandwagon, but his mom had always embraced both her _and_ Dylan as family.

"I did," she said. "I always will, but . . . your life was Sarah has been so positive and so wonderful. So _healthy_. What you and Maria had was . . ."

 _Complicated?_ he thought. _Intense? Dramatic?_ It still was.

"Well, I'm just not sure that's what I want for you, Michael."

"So you like Sarah better?" he surmised. No big shock there.

"I like her better for _you_ ," she clarified. "Maybe it's not too late to patch things up."

"No, it is. Trust me."

"Why?"

"Because, things with Maria . . ." He hesitated, sighing frustratedly. "They went too far."

She tilted her head to the side curiously, staring at him sternly. "What does that mean?"

He shook his head, wishing he could follow through on his plan and just lie his ass off to her. But she was his _mom_. She was the woman who had given birth to him the way Tina had just given birth to Joe. She deserved to know the truth. "I didn't wanna tell you," he mumbled, ashamed.

"Tell me what?" she prompted.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, praying she would only be disappointed and not disgusted. "I slept with Maria," he revealed.

At first, she didn't say anything. When she found words, they were hopeful ones. "After you broke up with Sarah?"

"Before."

The coffee cup in her hands shook with anger, a bit of the hot liquid splashing over the sides. "You did _what_?" she gasped, setting the cup down on the floor.

 _I'm sorry,_ he thought. Nobody seemed to think his apologies were worth much, though.

"Oh, Michael . . . how _could_ you?" she demanded.

"It's what I do," he replied flatly. Was anyone really that surprised that he'd done such a scumbag thing?

"No, it's what you _did_ , in high school," she argued. "But you're not like that anymore. I've watched you grow up; I've watched you change."

"Well, apparently I'm still the same." No one was more disturbed by that thought than he was.

"I just can't believe you," she said, more tears falling down now. "You _cheated_ on Sarah? On your fiancée? On a girl who loves you more than anything in the world?"

With _a girl who_ I _love more than anything in the world,_ he thought. Not that that made it right.

"Oh, Michael . . ." she said again. "I'm _so_ disappointed in you right now."

"I knew you would be," he mumbled. Somewhere down in the pit fires of hell, his dad was looking up at him with that same unbridled disappointment.

"And what about Maria, huh? I thought she was back together with Dylan's father."

"She is," he acknowledged bitterly.

"So, what, did she break up with him then, too?"

"Nope." That was the irony of the situation, wasn't it? He threw away everything for the girl, and the girl threw away nothing for him. "They're still together."

"So then are you two . . ." She whirled her hands about in front of her face as he struggled to sort it all out. "This isn't something that's gonna continue then, right? It's over?"

Maybe the sex was. But his feelings sure as hell weren't. "I guess."

"What do you mean you _guess_?"

"I mean she's stickin' with Max. So I'll wait," he declared.

"And what exactly are you waiting for?"

"To see if she changes her mind. I don't know."

His mom's mouth dropped open in stunned disbelief. "No!" she yelled. "No, I don't want this for you! I don't want you to sacrifice all the good things in your life just because you can't get over your feelings for her."

"I'm in love with her, Mom." This went well beyond the typical crush.

"You're in love with Sarah, too," she argued.

"No, I'm not," he growled. Maybe he had been once, but . . . not anymore. "I'm sorry."

She wiped her tears away and shook her head. In a matter of minutes, she'd gone from being a happy grandmother to a distressed mother, all because of him. "I need some air," she said, shooting to her feet. She fled the waiting room, leaving him by himself. Which, at this point, was probably where he belonged.

...

Dylan's eyes kept darting back and forth that night from the food on his plate to the Xbox in the living room. Max could tell what his son was about to ask before he even asked it.

"Dad?" he finally whimpered. "Can I go play?"

He had plenty of untouched vegetables on his plates, but . . . hell, who could blame him for that? Real men ate meat. "Sure," Max replied.

Dylan's whole face lit up with excitement, and he slid down off his chair and scampered into the living room.

"He's, like, addicted to that thing," Maria said as she moved her own vegetables around her plate.

"Ah, there's worse stuff to be addicted to," Max reminded her. It wasn't really meant to be a joke, which was probably why she didn't laugh.

"So how was your day?" she asked when it was just the two of them. He'd gotten home from work late, so they hadn't really gotten much of a chance to talk.

"Fine," he answered. "Pretty standard. I met up with Liz for lunch, though. She brought Scarlet."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." That had all been pretty standard, too, except for one thing. "She mentioned something," he said, not sure if he really wanted to bring it up or not.

"What's that?" Maria asked.

"Well, she said she's pretty sure Michael and Sarah broke up." It had caught him by surprise, that was for sure, and he wondered if Maria knew anything about it. Now that his life was less dramatic than it used to be, other people's drama was a form of entertainment.

"Yeah, she showed me Sarah's Facebook status," Maria said. "I don't know, though. Maybe it was an accident."

"An accident?" Max echoed, chuckling. "So she _accidentally_ changed her relationship status to single?"

"You know, Facebook is not the be all and end all of reliable sources," Maria pointed out. "Who knows what's really going on? I'd ask, but it's none of my business."

"It just seems weird, don't you think?" Max made a face, trying to fathom how things could go so far south between the couple so quickly. "I mean, he just proposed to her."

"Well . . . we don't know what was really going on behind the scenes," Maria said, pushing her chair backward. She took her plate over to the counter, then grabbed his and brought it over as well, even though he wasn't done eating yet. "I'm gonna go play with Dylan," she said, bending to kiss his cheek before heading into the living room.

Max frowned. Maria _really_ didn't seem to want to talk about Michael and Sarah's demise. But then again, he supposed, maybe that was a good thing.

...

Thirty-seven hours after he was born, Joe was able to be brought home for the first time. Tina and Nicholas seemed all excited about it on the outside, but Michael wondered if they were nervous on the inside. Two days ago, neither one of them had ever even changed a diaper, but the nurses had shown them how. There were no nurses at home, though. Just them. And Grandma Krista, of course.

"Do you think he'll always be this quiet?" Tina wondered as she carried him across the threshold.

"Hopefully," Nicholas said, reaching over to touch his soft cheeks. "Hey, maybe he'll even sleep through the night."

"Oh, no, that won't happen," Krista assured them as she slipped past and headed into the kitchen. "My advice is to sleep whenever he does. For the next few months, he'll have total control."

Tina laughed and handed the baby over to Nicholas. "So who cried more as a baby?" she asked. "Me or Michael?"

"Oh, Michael by far," Krista replied.

Michael shrugged, figuring as much. He'd never been an easy kid to raise, apparently, from birth onward. "Is it true that boys cry more than girls?" he asked his mom, thinking he remembered reading that somewhere.

Instead of answering him, she kept her head down as she arranged some ingredients on the counter for sandwiches.

"Mom?" he prompted.

Still no response.

He resigned himself to silence and mumbled, "She's mad at me."

Tina gave him a curious look and then motioned for him to follow her back outside. "You got it?" she asked Nicholas.

"I got it," he replied, rocking Joe in his arms as he headed into the living room.

Michael went out onto the porch with his sister, not sure how long he could stay there today. He had classes and work to get back to, of course, but more than that . . . there was just this tension in the air between him and his mom. It was palpable—she'd barely said two words to him since their conversation in the hospital—and that kind of negative energy wasn't needed right now, not with the baby home for the first night.

"So you told her?" Tina asked, sitting down on the steps.

"Yeah." He groaned as he sat down next to her, each of his limbs aching from dozing off in chairs for the past couple nights.

"I thought you weren't going to," she said.

"I wasn't, but then . . ." He thought about what had changed his mind and just shrugged. "I don't know. I couldn't lie to her."

Tina nodded, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "So what'd she say?"

"Ah, you know. She can't believe I'd do that to Sarah. And she's not exactly thrilled that Maria and I hooked up again." He really wasn't sure which part of her reaction had been worse, the disappointment . . . or the dread.

"Neither am I," Tina openly admitted. "I'm sorry, but I still have issues with her."

 _Join the club then,_ he thought unhappily. Clearly his family and friends were anti-Maria.

"She gave up on you, even though you were willing to fight for her. I don't think she deserves a second chance."

"I can't help how I feel, Teenie," he pointed out. He couldn't control his feelings for Maria any more than she could for Nicholas. Although surely his ran deeper.

"I know," she said. "But I really liked Sarah. She was so good for you."

"Maybe too good," he mumbled. Maybe he'd never deserved Sarah Nguyen in the first place. Just like he'd never deserved Isabel. Just like he probably didn't even deserve Maria. These girls were gorgeous and talented. If it wasn't for his particular skillset in the _boudoir_ , he probably wouldn't even stand a chance with any of them.

"I knew it wasn't gonna end well, though," Tina lamented, sadly shaking her head. "When I recognized that ring on her finger . . . I just knew it. And I should've said something. But I just kept my mouth shut, hoped for the best."

 _Kind of like I'm doing now,_ he grumbled inwardly. As much as he hoped that Nicholas wouldn't abandon Tina and Joe someday . . . he just worried that they would. Maybe it was a gut feeling, or maybe it was just a stereotype. Hard to say.

Tina frowned and angled her body towards him. "Isn't Maria still with Dylan's dad, though?" she asked.

Michael had to bite his tongue to keep from venting. "Yep."

"How's that gonna work then?" Tina questioned. "Is she breaking up with him to be with you?"

He shook his head. "No. She's too worried about what it'll do to Dylan."

"So she's just staying with him? Like nothing's changed?" Tina huffed. "I don't know, Michael, this doesn't sound like a good situation."

"It's not," he admitted. Who was it who had once told him that Maria wasn't a bad girl, but she was a bad _situation_? He couldn't remember now, but the words reverberated across the walls of his mind. "You think I should just give up then?" he asked, even though he had absolutely no intention of doing that.

Tina gave him a _duh_ look. "Uh, yeah, obviously. But . . ." She sighed knowingly. "You can't. You won't. You're, like, hopelessly in love with her."

"Hopelessly?"

"Yeah." She actually cracked a smile, just a small one, and then she fell silent for a few seconds, her brows furrowing as she contemplated something. "I'll tell you what," she announced then. "If you start rooting for me and Nicholas, I'll start rooting for you and Maria. Deal?"

As unnatural as it was to go against his suspicions, it seemed fair enough to Michael. "Alright, deal," he agreed. Now this way they could both have someone in their corner.

She held out her pinky finger, signaling for him to link his with hers. He rolled his eyes and did the stupid pinky swear thing.

"Will you promise me one thing, though?" she entreated. "Don't sleep with her again. At least not while she's still with Max. You're better than that."

 _Am I?_ he wondered. Even knowing all the problems it would cause . . . he wanted to be all over her again. His hands on her body . . . he craved it.

"Promise?" Tina asked.

Hell, if this whole supportive sibling thing was supposed to be mutually beneficial, he was going to make sure she agreed to something, too. "You promise you won't have another baby before you're twenty?" he retorted.

At first she shot him an annoyed look, but it didn't last long. Her expression soon softened, and she answered with sincerity. "I promise."

Hopefully she'd be able to live up to that. It'd make things easier on her, on Nicholas, on everyone. She was still a smart girl. She had to understand that. "Then I promise, too," he said, feeling decidedly less confident about his own ability to keep his word.

...

Normally Michael felt a sense of relief when he returned to Carlsbad after being home in Roswell for a few days. But not this time. No, this time, in fact, it was ironically opposite. Being in Roswell felt like a bit of an escape for him, and Carlsbad was the harsh reality.

He got home Thursday evening after helping Tina and Nicholas get settled in with Joe that day. Tina had seemed sad to see him leave, but his mom hadn't said much to him. She was probably _happy_ to see him go, he figured. Right now, he was just one big disappointment.

Tiredly, he trudged down the hallway, hoping his apartment still looked like . . . well, his apartment. It was possible that Sarah had stopped by while he'd been gone these past few days and taken some more stuff. Maybe even some furniture. Most of the bigger items like the couch and the bed were things that they'd split the cost of, fifty-fifty, so they were just as much hers as they were his.

"Michael, Michael, Michael," he heard a familiar voice ring out behind him.

He slowed with his key card in his hand, stopping right in front of his closed door. "What're you doin' here, Isabel?"

"Business." She came to stand in front of him, and he saw that she was wearing that long, brown trench coat she always wore when she came here to put on a striptease for someone.

"Is that what you call it?" he questioned.

She shrugged. "It makes me money. It's business."

"Uh-huh." She seemed so accustomed to it at this point that it was . . . actually pretty damn heartbreaking. "Doesn't Jesse usually accompany you for your . . . 'business'?"

"Usually," she conceded. "But he's busy tonight."

Michael rolled his eyes.

"It's okay, though," she insisted. "The guy I'm entertaining . . . he's harmless. I've stripped for him before. He's the look-but-don't-touch type. My favorite."

Did she even hear herself? She'd gotten so used to being objectified that she just willingly objectified herself. "Is there something you want?" he asked impatiently.

"Just thought I'd see how you're doing," she replied. "I hear there have been some major _happenings_ in your life this week."

 _Oh, fuck this,_ he thought. No way was he talking about Sarah with her. "Goodbye, Isabel." He lowered his key card into the lock and pushed open the door, attempting to slip right inside and shut it in her face. But she shot her hand out and kept it open.

"Hey, don't be rude," she scolded, managing to push her way inside. "We're talking here."

He grunted and made his way into the kitchen to grab a beer, noting that all his furniture still seemed to be in there. Maybe once Isabel left, he could lie down and go to sleep and just forget. About everything.

"So why'd you break up with her?" she asked, shutting the door.

He popped open the tab on the can, but instead of taking a drink, he set it back down on the counter and spun around. "How the hell did you even hear about it?"

"I know a lot of people, Michael. You know a lot of people. People talk," she explained, swaying towards him with a smile on her face. "So?" She tilted her head to the side curiously, and he knew she wouldn't let up until he said something about it, so he relented.

"Fine. I broke up with her. It's none of your business. The end."

"Hmm, sounds like the beginning to me."

"Beginning of what?" he spat, annoyed.

"Just some ridiculous romantic melodrama between you and my brother's girlfriend. That's all."

 _Crap._ He hoped his facial expression and body language didn't give him away. He tried to play it cool. "You think I still have feelings for Maria?"

"Don't you?" She moved even closer and undid the top button of her coat, as if to see if he would notice. But he barely did. "I mean, why else would you put an end to the most stable, long-lasting relationship you've ever had? If I had to bet my hard-earned stripping money on it, I'd say you two are probably fucking like bunnies again."

"Well, you're wrong," he responded quickly, probably a little too quickly. "There's nothing going on between me and Maria."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And I'm supposed to be stupid enough to believe that?"

"Well, you did get kicked out of Princeton," he reminded her, "so . . ." He actually tried to never bring that up with her, but right now, she was just pissing him off. So he really didn't care about being polite.

"I'm not an idiot, though," she told him. "I know you, Michael."

"You've never known me."

"Okay, then maybe you haven't slept with her yet," she said. "Maybe I'm willing to believe that much."

Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief for at least being able to lie to her convincingly about that.

"But you will," she added. "You want to."

He laughed lightly, trying to be seem more amused by what she was saying than alarmed. "I told you, there's nothing going on. I don't have feelings for Maria. That's not why I broke up with Sarah."

"Then why did you?"

"Because, it just . . . it wasn't workin' out."

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "You were _engaged_ , Michael."

"And it wasn't working. So I ended it. That's it. No torrid affair, no ulterior motive." How he wished that everything he was saying was true. It would've been easier, but the more he said, the easier it was to lie. "See, you're so—you're still so bitter about what happened between you and me, you just wanna dramatize and sensationalize all of this. You just wanna cause problems for me, stir up trouble. But there's nothing to stir up. You don't know me as well as you think."

"Hmm." She leaned back against the counter and folded her arms across her chest, thinking for a moment. "Well, I guess I was wrong then."

"Yeah." He picked up his beer and took a drink.

"I'll take your word for it," she said. "If you say there's nothing going on, then there's nothing going on."

"That's right." He smirked on the inside, pleased with himself for being able to fool her. Isabel was an incredibly smart girl, and when she wasn't dating him, she was entirely perceptive. Who knew his acting would be so damn strong?

"Good thing, too," she went on, angling her body towards him, "because if there was . . . well, that would pretty much make Maria look terrible."

He set his beer down, not looking at her.

"You know . . ." Her eyes bore straight into him. ". . . like a whore."

His whole body immediately tensed up on its own accord. He gripped the edge of the counter tightly, furiously, clamping his mouth shut just so he wouldn't say anything. But it didn't really matter, did it? His body language must have said it all. She'd managed to accomplish exactly what she'd been hoping to all along: She got a reaction out of him. All that stuff about taking his word for it and believing what he was saying . . . she didn't believe a word of it. He hadn't fooled her; she'd fooled him.

"See you around, Michael," she said, grinning at him. Probably on purpose, she made sure her body brushed against as she headed for the door.

Once she was gone, he let go of the edge of the counter and sighed in defeat. _Dammit._ Isabel wouldn't just forget this conversation, wouldn't forget the way he'd looked just now. She'd want to find a way to use all of this against him. And possibly, if she was smart enough or bored enough or some combination of the two, she'd be successful.

...

Only because she didn't want her grade to suffer any more than it already had did Maria decide to go to Music Appreciation class the next day. Only because she knew they had a test coming up, and she couldn't bomb it. Only because she doubted Michael would be there.

Her doubts were wrong, though. When she stepped foot in the lecture hall, she spotted him right away, sitting back in his usual seat. He wasn't on the lookout for her, wasn't meticulously watching the door for her to come in. In fact, he was sort of just staring down at his lap, looking at nothing.

 _Crap,_ she thought, slinking a few rows forward, staying on the far side of the room. She'd really been hoping that he would still be back in Roswell with his family, that he would have stayed all weekend with them. But of course not. Of course he had to be here. Of course he had to look so good, even though he looked so sad.

Even though she wanted to just sit down and try to be invisible, her body seemed opposed to that. She stood next to that lonely seat, trying to not think about him, but all she could do was think about him. So reluctantly, she made her way to the back row, to her usual spot, and uttered a quiet, "Hey," as she approached him.

He barely glanced up at her and mumbled, "I thought you were tryin' to switch classes."

"I was," she acknowledged. "I couldn't." Even though she actually _had_ considered just dropping the class, she figured that would be more problematic in the long run. Not only would it academic roadblock, but she'd lose out on the tuition money. And Max would question it. She didn't need him questioning anything.

Michael smirked, as though he were happy that she hadn't gotten her way, that she was stuck here in this class with him whether she liked it or not.

"Look, I'm not really talking to you right now . . ." she told him.

"You're not?"

"Well, I _am_ , but . . . just for a minute." She sighed and sat down, careful to keep one empty seat in between them. "How's Tina?" she asked, letting herself believe momentarily that that was the only reason she was talking to him, that that was the only thing she wanted to know about.

"She's good," he answered. "Home from the hospital."

"And did everything go well?" She'd been thinking about that little girl all week, saying prayers for her.

"Yeah, it was fine," he replied.

"What'd she have?"

Michael swallowed hard. "A boy."

"A boy." She smiled, picturing Tina with a son in her arms. "Wow." It was just like her and Dylan then. Mother and son. "So you have a nephew."

"Yep. His name's Joe." Michael smiled a bit. Just a little bit. "He's pretty awesome."

"I'll bet." It was easy to love a baby. They were small and completely innocent, and they didn't know your faults and your insecurities. And hopefully they never would. "What about her boyfriend," she asked, "the baby's father? Was he there?"

"Yeah, eventually," Michael muttered. "So we'll see how that goes."

"Yeah." She would hope for the best, but statistics didn't bode well for them, especially since they were younger than even the average teen parents.

"Who knows?" Michael said. "Maybe they'll be as happy as you and Max."

She gave him a hard look, knowing that was meant to be a shot at her. And it did sting, to an extent, not because she and Max weren't happy, but just because . . .

She'd been happi _er_ the other night. In bed with him.

"Did you talk to Sarah?" she asked, finally cutting to the chase of what she _really_ needed to know.

"Yep."

She stared at him expectantly, seeking more of an answer. "And is she gonna say anything?"

"Nope."

Almost as if she'd been holding her breath on that for days now, she let it out. "And Tess?" she questioned.

"She won't say anything, either," he assured her. "Sarah can control her."

"So . . . so they're really gonna keep it a secret then?"

"For Dylan's sake."

As much as she hated having to use her son as an appeal for both Michael _and_ Sarah to keep their mouths shut . . . at least it had worked. "Oh, thank God," she sighed.

"Yeah, what a relief," he agreed sarcastically.

She hadn't meant to sound insensitive, but she couldn't deny being glad that no one else was going to find out about her _major_ indiscretion. "I'm sorry, Michael," she whispered. "I just don't want him to know."

"My mom knows," he blurted out. "So does Tina."

Her eyebrows shot upward. "You—you _told_ them?"

"Had to."

Even though her gut instinct was to be mad at him for admitting it _again_ without her consent, she supposed she could understand. They were his family, after all, and even if he hadn't said anything, they would have realized something had changed sooner or later. "How'd they react?" she asked.

"How do you think?"

She shivered, trying not to think about it. She adored Krista—in some ways, the woman would always be the most maternal figure she'd ever had in her life—and she hated the thought of being hated by her. And Tina . . . well, she already knew how much resentment that girl had towards her. Her only hope there was that motherhood would soften her.

The class started to quiet down when the professor approached the whiteboard and started writing something. Maria took that as her cue to put some distance between herself and Michael before it was too late. "I should . . ." She motioned towards the far right side of the classroom and got up, scurrying down the aisle and a few rows forward so that she was much, _much_ farther away from him. It would be easier this way.

The professor set his marker down after finishing his bubble letters—or rather numbers—for the decade of music they were launching into now. "1970s," he began. "What music genre comes to mind?"

"Disco," everyone droned unenthusiastically.

"Disco, right." The professor laughed and shook his head. "But while it's very easy to get lost in that musical fad, the Seventies gave us a bigger contribution, one that still influences songwriters and singers to this day: a new and highly varied brand of soul music."

 _Soul music,_ Maria registered, trying to be attentive. _Right._

"Sometimes it was political, sometimes danceable. Often sexual."

The class laughed lightly amongst themselves, but Maria tensed.

"Yeah, I hear your snickers," the professor said, walking back and forth in the front of the room, "but think about it: This was the decade hot off the heels of the 60s. The sexual revolution was in full swing at this point. Lyrics were more explicit, dance moves more suggestive. Some songs began to outright objectify women, yet almost simultaneously, female musicians began to channel their own sexuality as a form of empowerment. Sex was no longer something to be considered taboo; it was something to be embraced." He grinned. "And it was."

The class chuckled again, and Maria shifted uncomfortably. Why did they have to talk about this today? Of all days?

"Barry White, Marvin Gaye, Al Green . . . do these names sound familiar?" the professor asked, and many heads nodded. "Yeah, I thought so. And while their lyrics might not seem so risky by today's standards, they were revolutionary at the time. Some even worried they were inappropriate."

 _Inappropriate?_ She rubbed the back of her neck.

"What these songs gave people were the inspiration to push back on cultural norms, challenge values. It was an emphasis on pleasure that our country had never seen before."

 _Pleasure?_ For some reason, she couldn't help but glance back a few rows at Michael, just to see if he was looking at her, too. He wasn't, but it was almost as if he felt his eyes on her, because almost instantly, he turned his head, and their eyes met.

"But where did we draw the line? That was the question," the professor went on. "What many had come to consider romantic was what others deemed erotic, and—let's be honest—that probably only served to make the songs even more popular."

Maria knew she should have looked away, should have looked at anyone or anything else. But his gaze was too strong, too enticing, and she felt completely captivated by it.

"I mean, imagine yourself as a pop-culture junkie of the 1970s," their professor urged, "listening to lyrics like, _'I've been really tryin', baby. Tryin' to hold back this feeling for so long.'_ "

Her heart was beating faster now, the thud of it growing louder and louder in her ears, gradually overpowering any other sounds in the room.

"' _And if you feel like I feel baby,'_ " the professor continued on, his voice fading in Maria's perception. " _'Come on, oh, come on . . . let's get it on.'_ "

Her breathing already felt heavier. She couldn't take the heat from Michael's gaze.

"What do you think?" their professor asked. "What kind of impact would that have had on you?"

 _Oh god,_ she thought, still staring at him, even as she felt a tingle of desire between her legs. _Oh, no._

They barely made it through the class, but the moment it ended, he came and got her. She took his hand and let him drag her out of the room and down the hall. They plunged into their favorite uninhabited classroom, barely making it inside before they tumbled into each other feverishly. His mouth found hers just as his hand found the door, slamming it shut, and her body arched up into his, wanting to feel him. _Needing_ to feel him.

He shoved both his hands down the back of her pants, squeezing and kneading her ass insistently. The maneuver also allowed him to push her hips forward so that she could feel his raging hard-on. As though she hadn't already seen the bulge in his pants. As though she hadn't been imagining it getting harder and harder with each passing second of that endless class today.

She tried to reach down in between them to undo her pants, but he moved her hands away and did it for her. His fingers worked so fast, so _expertly_ , that she could barely comprehend what was happening to her. One second they were kissing, and the next second, she was gasping as he spun her around and yanked her jeans down all the way to her knees, her thong right along with them. Somehow, he didn't even need words to get her to do what he wanted to. He just pressed his hand onto her back, and she understood that she was supposed to bend over. So she did.

Hands pressed against the wall, legs spread as far apart as her jeans would allow, she stood there, completely open and exposed to him, panting for air. She listened as he quickly unzipped his own jeans, and she heard the urgency in his breathing as he lowered them just enough to release his cock. He stepped up behind her then, taking only a second to position himself. With one hand on her hip and no teasing whatsoever, he entered her fully with one push.

"Oh!" she cried out, reveling in the sensation. There was nothing else like this first moment of being joined with him, nothing that could even compare. She loved it. She loved it so much.

It was frantic and rough, as he started thrusting right away. He gripped both her hips tightly and got into an automatic rhythm. The movements felt smooth and natural. After sitting through that whole class, lusting after him, fantasizing about him, she was already so damn wet. She'd cum in no time at this rate.

He was like an animal as he pounded into her. His skin slapped hard against hers, and the sound alone was so erotic that Maria's legs started to shake. Oh god, she wouldn't survive this. Getting fucked by Michael Guerin was an absolute rush, one that she wouldn't come down from. At least not until he wanted her to.

"Oh . . ." she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut as her orgasm swirled inside her stomach. _God, yes._ He was going to make her cum, and she was going to revel in every single second of it.


	63. Chapter 63

The house was empty, and that was good. Maria had a few hours to herself before she had to go pick Dylan up from school, before Max got home from work.

 _Max._

She winced, partially because thinking of him hurt, and partially because her body hurt. Michael definitely hadn't been gentle today. Not that she'd wanted him to be.

Maria shut the front door, feeling disgusted with herself. In the moment, it had felt great, exhilarating, even. But now, just like last time, she felt horrible afterwards. The fact that she'd let this happen with Michael, not just once, but _twice_ . . . was horrifying. She didn't want to be the kind of person who would do this, but when he looked at her, and when he had his hands on her, and _especially_ when he kissed her . . . she just felt powerless to stop it, or even protest.

Lifelessly, she tossed her purse onto the floor, forgetting about the text she'd gotten from Liz on the way home. It was an invitation to go grab lunch somewhere, but she wasn't hungry. And as good of a friend as Liz was and always had been to her, she really didn't feel like sitting through lunch with her, listening to her speculate about why Michael and Sarah had broken up.

She slumped down onto the couch, running her hands through her hair; but when she did that, all she could think about was what it had felt like today when Michael had pulled on it.

...

Feeling completely spent, Michael crash-landed onto his bed, face-first. Today had been exhausting . . . in the best possible way.

How long had it been since he'd just straight-up _fucked_ Maria like that? He couldn't recall. But it had felt so damn good. He'd gotten her to cum twice, and afterward, she'd barely been able to stand. That was the good news.

The bad news was that, even though her legs had hardly been functioning, she'd still managed to high-tail it out of there as soon as they were done, pausing only to remind him, "Don't say anything." How many times was he going to have to have sex with this girl to get her to realize that her desires for him were _far_ stronger than her obligations to Max?

When his phone rang, he groaned, debating whether or not to answer it. There was one small shred of hope, though, that it might be Maria, that she might be calling to tell him that she'd decided to tell Max everything. So he answered it, hoping, praying. "Yeah?"

"What up, bro?" Tina laughed.

He smiled, turning over onto his back. "Hey, Teenie," he said, yawning. "How's it goin'?"

"Pretty good," she said. "I hardly got any sleep last night, though. Joe slept all through the day, and then he just woke up. And he wouldn't go back to sleep."

"Did Nicholas help?" he asked. If that kid had gotten a full night's sleep, he was going to be fucking pissed.

"Well, he was downstairs on the couch," she said, sounding very much like she was making an excuse for him. "So I just handled it."

Oh, no, no, he didn't like the sound of that. "Just wake him up next time," he advised. "Take turns."

"I guess," she said, pausing to do a yawn of her own. "So what'd you do today?" she asked him. "Anything interesting?"

"Uh . . ." His fingers burned with the memory of holding Maria's hips in place. "Not really," he lied, feeling like the biggest jackass ever for breaking his promise to his sister. And it had taken him a whole whopping one day to do it, too. _Loser._

"Did you have class?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Was it boring?"

Part of him wished he could say it had been. That would have been simpler. "No," he replied, rubbing his forehead to ease the impending headache. "Definitely not boring."

...

Isabel handed her waiter the menu, flashing him a flirtatious grin. He was definitely a college guy, and definitely one of her subscribers. He was that polite type, though, who, instead of asking her for a picture or an autograph—or a blow-job—instead didn't say anything and tried really, _really_ hard to only look at her eyes.

When he was gone, she refocused her attention across the table. "Thanks for having lunch with me today," she told her brother.

"No problem," Max responded. "It's not like I have anything better to do on my Saturday."

"Hmm. Was that sarcastic?"

He smirked. "A little bit."

She knew better than to be offended. It was meant to be more teasing in nature. "Look," she said, "I know you don't particularly like spending time with me—nobody really does, but . . ."

"It's not that," he cut in. "It's just that we live two totally separate lifestyles these days. Sometimes I find it hard to relate to you."

"I know." Most people did. "But you're my brother. I still care about you." She looked down at her water glass, touching the cold, moist side of it with her fingertips. "I still worry."

He frowned. "Well, there's nothing to worry about."

She stifled the urge to laugh at his obliviousness. "Oh, I think there is," she said, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass.

He stared at her for a few seconds and didn't say anything, like he was trying to be uninterested. But eventually he broke down and asked, "What?"

 _Good,_ she thought, _got him intrigued._ "Let me ask you something, Max," she said, sitting back. "Why do you think Michael broke up with Sarah?"

Her brother made a confused face. "I don't know. No one knows."

"But if you had to guess . . ." She trailed off curiously.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he spat.

"Oh, Max, don't play dumb. I know you've thought about it."

"Thought about what?"

 _Maybe I'm giving him too much credit,_ she thought. Max was a smart guy—he was an Evans, after all—but perhaps the domesticated life had dulled his shrewder instincts. "Him," she answered. "Her. Rekindling."

"You mean, Michael and . . . and Maria?" he sputtered, as if it were unthinkable.

"Bingo."

He grunted, shaking his head in denial. "They're not rekindling anything. At least nothing beyond friendship."

"You sure about that?" She really hoped he hadn't grown so complacent to overlook the obvious fact that Michael and Maria had never _just_ been friends. Their little love story had always lurked beneath the surface, and just because she'd learned that the hard way, it didn't mean he had to.

"Yes," he answered firmly. "I'm sure."

"Hmm. Because I have this theory that Michael's still in love with Maria, and that's why he broke up with Sarah," she put forth, shrugging. "If you think about it, that's really the only thing that makes sense."

Max stared at her for a few seconds, then growled, "No."

"No, you don't believe me?" she questioned. "Or you don't want to?"

"I don't believe you. I saw Michael and Sarah together. They were in love."

"And they're not anymore. Why is that?" She leaned forward, becoming increasingly passionate and urgent as she tried to get him to understand. "What could possibly be strong enough and powerful enough that Michael would call it quits with his perfect girlfriend? Take it from me, Max, there's more to their 'friendship' than meets the eye. I had a front row seat the last time this played out."

"So you think history's repeating itself?"

"I do. Unfortunately." True, she didn't want Max to end up with Maria—she would have much rather preferred Liz. But still, when their relationship came to an end, she wanted it to be Max's decision and Max's decision alone. That way Maria could feel a little of the heartbreak for a change.

"I think you're wrong," he told her decidedly.

She rolled her eyes, wishing she could get a glimpse of the devious, daring brother hiding somewhere inside of him. That version of him never would have been so . . . whipped.

"I called Maria a whore in front of Michael," she blurted, figuring it was time to resort to the closest thing she had to proof.

Max gave her an annoyed look.

"What? That's what she is," Isabel grumbled.

He immediately got up to leave.

"No, stay. Please," she begged. "Please."

He rolled his eyes and reluctantly sat back down.

"The point is," she went on, "when I called her that, Michael didn't like it very much."

"Did he say something?"

"No. But the body language said it all." She chuckled as she thought of how tensed up he had instantly become. "You should've seen him. It was like, if I wasn't a girl, he would've throttled me."

"Isabel, would you listen to yourself?" he snapped, clearly at the end of his patience. "You're so desperate to be included that you're making up crazy theories just to have a reason to talk to me."

"Oh, trust me, I'd rather be talking to you about anything else," she assured him. "But I'm worried, Max. If Michael still has feelings for Maria, then what if she still has feelings for him?"

"She doesn't," he stated simply. As though it could ever be that simple.

"And what if they act on those feelings? I don't think they've slept together yet, but when they do . . ."

"Stop it," he broke in.

"Max, I-"

"No, _stop_ ," he growled emphatically. His eyes were wide with anger now, his lips drawn tight. "I don't need to sit here and listen to this. I love Maria; Maria loves me. We both love Dylan. There is no problem here."

 _Oh, Max . . ._ Her heart went out to him, honestly. He was trying so hard to be nice, supportive, understanding guy, but it was coming at the expense of his own common sense. "I just think you should be wary, that's all," she cautioned, wishing he would understand that she wasn't trying to upset him.

"The only thing I'm wary about is another lunch with you," he grumbled, standing up again. He walked away from the table, and this time, she knew there was no way to get him to come back.

 _Dammit,_ she thought, frustrated. That hadn't gone the way she'd hoped. But maybe she'd gotten through to him. Maybe even the faintest spark of doubt would be enough to get him to question what was right in front of him for a change. And if he ended up hating her for it . . . then so be it. It was worth bearing his wrath to try to look out for him.

...

Everything was an adventure when you were young, even something so simple as going to the grocery store. "I got it!" Dylan exclaimed, reaching for a heavy sack that had to weigh almost as much as he did. He seemed determined to help load stuff into the car, which was nice.

"You sure?" Maria said, hesitantly letting him lift the sack. "Be careful," she cautioned, even though he seemed to have a good hold on it. "That's heavy."

"I'm strong," he declared, setting the sack on the floor in the backseat.

"Yeah, you're strong," she agreed, letting him load the next sack, too. It was nice to see him wanting to be helpful.

"It's 'cause I play football," he said, attempting to flex.

"Yeah, football players are pretty tough," she agreed, her attention shifting when she saw someone out of the corner of her eye. Tess was traipsing through the parking lot, a long grocery list in her hands.

"Do I hafta play basketball next year, Mom?" Dylan whined, but she was distracted now. " 'cause I like football better."

 _I have to talk to her,_ she thought, trying to think of a way to do it out of earshot from Dylan. "Yeah, me, too," she said quickly. "Um . . . hey, why don't you get in the car and snack on a few Fruit Roll-Ups while I put the cart away," she suggested. "Okay?"

"Okay." Dylan eagerly crawled into the back seat and started digging through the sacks, and she shut the door and grabbed the empty cart, hurriedly wheeling it towards the store's entrance.

"Tess!" she called, managing to stop the other girl there.

Tess literally sent her a death glare. "Maria," she groaned. "You're probably the last person I wanna talk to right now."

"Yeah." She'd figured as much, which was why she had to have this conversation when presented with the chance. "Look, I know you hate me . . ."

Tess folded her grocery list and stuck it into her pocket. "Hate is . . . too nice of a word," she said. "Despise? Loathe? Detest?"

Maria sighed, trying to deflect all the choice words and be civilized. "I understand why you . . . despise me," she acknowledged. "But I just wanted to thank you for not saying anything to Max. It would just crush him. And Dylan, too."

Tess rolled her eyes and took a step closer. Maybe it was the pregnancy at work, but she looked pretty damn intimidating. "Let me be perfectly clear here, Maria," she growled. "The only reason I'm keeping this little secret is because my best friend asked me to, and the only reason she's keeping it is because she's _way_ too nice for her own good. But if she ever changes her mind, then I will be the first person in line to tell Max everything I know."

Maria shifted uncomfortably, hoping Sarah never changed her mind, then. Because that would be awful for everyone involved. "Well, regardless," she said softly, "I'm very grateful."

Tess smiled angrily and huffed, "Unbelievable."

"What?"

"You," Tess spat accusatorily. "You never stop doing this, do you? You act all nice and innocent, when in reality, there's nothing nice and innocent about you. In fact, there's a word for you, Maria: _slut_."

Maria opened her mouth to deny that, but given what had just happened after class yesterday . . . it hit home.

"You're a slut," Tess stated. "And Michael's a male-slut, so I hope the slutty sex you had with him was worth it. Because you caused a lot of damage in the process."

Maria blinked back tears, wishing she had some sort of rebuttal, something she could say to not leave it at that. But there was nothing.

Smiling, as if she were satisfied with her parting shot, Tess spun on her heels and practically pranced into the store through the automatic doors. Maria just stood there, shaken, disturbed. There was clearly no love lost between herself and Tess Harding, which explained the bluntness of that conversation. But just because it was blunt didn't mean it was . . . unfounded. Tess was right. They had caused a lot of damage, and she wasn't as nice and innocent as she wanted people to think she was.

She heard the car door open, and moments later, Dylan piped up, "Mom? Can we go now?"

She took a breath to try to calm herself and replied, "Yeah. We can go." The only good thing about that conversation was that Dylan hadn't overheard it.

...

Michael sloshed his drink around in the glass, wishing it tasted better. Kyle's suggestion of a night out at The Cave had seemed like a good idea a few hours ago, but now, he was wishing he'd just stayed home and gone to bed early. The alcohol tasted like shit tonight, the music sounded like shit, and he felt like shit. It was a perfectly shitty evening.

"You're not gettin' drunk, right?" Kyle asked. He'd been watching him pretty closely ever since they sat down at the bar, like he was just expecting him to go overboard any minute now.

"No," Michael assured him. "Just pleasantly buzzed." In fact, the only thing keeping him from going home was the fact that his buzz was starting to kick in, and everything was starting to seem slightly less shitty.

"Alright," Kyle said. "I'll stay pleasantly sober, just in case."

 _And we're back to the way it used to be,_ Michael thought. They'd come full circle, him and Kyle. "Does Tess know we're hangin' out tonight?" he asked.

"Yep. She's not too happy about it, but . . ." Kyle shrugged. "Oh, well. I think she and Sarah were gonna so see some movie, so what am I supposed to do? Sit home and knit?"

Michael chuckled, but when he thought of Sarah . . . he couldn't help but get serious. "How is she?" he asked.

"Sarah? Ah, she's . . ." Kyle hesitated, and when he finally gave him an answer, it wasn't much of one. "You know."

He _did_ know, though. There wasn't a day that had gone by since their split that he hadn't thought about her, hadn't wondered how she was doing, hadn't hoped that she was doing better.

"I think she found an apartment," Kyle revealed, "so that's good."

"Off-campus?" Michael asked.

"Yep."

He nodded, knowing that had to be stressful on her. It was never easy trying to find someplace to live, especially when you hadn't really wanted to move in the first place. "I should give her some of the furniture so she can get settled in," he said, thinking out loud. "At least the bed or somethin'."

Kyle grimaced. "You really think she wants the bed?"

 _Where it all went down,_ he thought, reconsidering. _Me and Maria._ "Okay, good point."

"Besides, I think her parents are kinda helpin' out with that stuff." Kyle waved the bartender over, but instead of ordering any alcohol, he asked for club soda. Michael happily took another drink.

"Hey," he heard from over his shoulder suddenly. Sounded like a girl. He didn't care.

Kyle kicked him subtly, and he turned around to get a load of the smokin' hot redhead behind him. She sort of looked like Jessica Rabbit and Roxie from high school combined. "Oh, hey," he returned, though even her hot body couldn't hold his attention for long. He looked down in his glass, noticing that he was nearing the bottom.

"I'm Rachel," she said, jutting her hip out to the side flirtatiously.

He wasn't in the mood to flirt. Which had to be a first.

She waited for a few seconds, then asked, "And you are . . .?"

"What? Oh, Michael."

"Michael," she said, smiling. "Are you here with anyone tonight?"

"Yeah." The last thing he wanted to do was have to deal with some random chick tonight, not with thoughts of fucking Maria fresh in his mind. So he said, "He's my date," and motioned to Kyle.

"Oh." Rachel laughed, embarrassed, and said, "Never mind then," as she slinked away. She scurried back out onto the dance floor, where a group of equally hot friends of hers were waiting, and they all giggled.

"News to me," Kyle said. "I didn't know we were takin' our bromance to the next level."

"Yeah, we're gonna make out when we get in the car," Michael joked.

Kyle chuckled, trailing off as his club soda landed back in front of him. "So did you blow her off because you just broke up with Sarah?" he asked. "Or 'cause of Maria?"

Did it really matter at this point? "Both," he said, downing the rest of his drink. If they kept talking about Sarah _or_ Maria, though, he was going to need a much stronger one.

As much as he wanted to just sit there with his best friend and be lighthearted and maybe even immature, his mind just kept going back to the same thing, the same person, the same sexualized thoughts of her. "I can't stop thinking about her, Kyle," he confessed, wondering if it would have been easier had they not hooked up again yesterday.

"Which one?" Kyle asked.

A gentleman would have said Sarah, but . . . that just wasn't the case. "Maria," he replied.

Kyle nodded slowly, his facial expression transforming into one of . . . concern. "You guys haven't . . . I mean, it hasn't happened again, though, right?" he questioned. "It was just the one time?"

Michael knew he could tell the truth. Hell, if there was anyone he could be honest with about anything, it was Kyle. And since they were back in their traditional roles of screw-up and caretaker, Kyle would probably even give him some good advice about how to handle it.

But he lied. "Right," he said. "Just the one time." Needing a distraction, he signaled the bartender back over to give him a refill.

...

Liz entered Chancellor Rehabilitation, double checking the address on the cake she was delivering. Yep, this was it.

"Hey, Liz," she heard, and when she looked up, there was Sarah, sitting on a couch in the lounge area in scrubs.

"Hey," Liz returned. "Look at you, working on a Sunday."

"Well, not working very hard," Sarah acknowledged. "For once, we're actually _over_ -staffed."

"Oh, that's gotta be nice."

"It is. It makes the day feel long, though." She pointed to the cake and asked, "Who's that for?"

"Uh, Cindy," Liz replied. "For her birthday, from her boyfriend."

"Oh, she's so spoiled. She'll love it," Sarah said, taking the cake from her. She set it down on the coffee table and admired it openly. "Wow, that's really amazing, Liz."

"Thanks." It was just a double-layer chocolate cake with pink frosting roses on the top. Nothing too strenuous. "It's actually a lot easier than it looks."

"Well, it looks delicious."

"Thank you." Liz sat down on the arm of the couch, figuring she could take a minute for a brief conversation. This girl was, after all, a friend, and obviously she was going through something lately. "So . . . how's it going?" she asked hesitantly.

"Oh . . . it's going." Sarah definitely didn't sound like her usual cheerful self.

Liz nodded, trying to delicately approach the obvious topic. "So I heard that . . ." She stopped and started over, lowering her voice even though the only other person within hearing range was the woman at the front desk who looked totally engrossed in her work. "I heard about you and Michael. I'm sorry."

"Thanks," Sarah said. "Yeah, it was, uh . . . really heartbreaking. Actually, tomorrow marks the one-week point. But it feels like it's been longer."

"Oh, I'm sure. You guys were together for years. It's gonna be an adjustment." Liz couldn't even imagine the pain that this poor girl had to be feeling. Her own experience with Max had been painful enough, and they'd only been together a couple months. "So what—what happened, exactly?" she asked, trying to get a little more info without being obnoxiously nosy. "Or is it none of my business? You don't have to tell me."

"No, it's okay," Sarah said. "I just, uh . . ." She trailed off and hesitated for a long, long time, maybe because it was difficult for her to rehash. "I think he was just having second thoughts. Too many of them." She shrugged sadly. "He just thought it wasn't working out."

Liz wrinkled her forehead, confused. "Then why did he propose to you?"

"Oh, trust me, I'll be asking myself the same question for years to come."

Liz frowned, figuring it must have been his last-ditch effort to make things work, to see if they could last. Maybe there had been more stuff going on beneath the surface than anyone had ever suspected. "So it was just a feeling then?" she asked, still halfway expecting Sarah to mention Maria's name, to allude to some sort of lingering feelings Michael had for her. "He broke up with you because he felt like he had to?"

Sarah lowered her head, mumbling, "More or less."

 _Huh,_ Liz thought, more than a little surprised. But it was a good thing, she supposed. This way, Max wouldn't have to endure any drama or heartbreak of his own.

It was good for Max. It was really, _really_ good. For Max.

"Well, for what it's worth," she told Sarah, "it's obviously his loss."

Sarah tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself," she said, "but still . . ." Her eyes glazed over with tears, allowing Liz to see just how sad she really felt about the whole thing. "I feel like I've lost something, too."

...

Work was unproductive for Michael on Monday. He zombied his way through the majority of it, neglecting to pay as much attention to Jake as he should have. It had gotten easier with him lately, and he was requiring less and less assistance.

When the last bell of the day rang and the students started flooding out to the buses and their parents' cars, he went outside, too. He stayed up by the front door, watching intently as Maria got Dylan into the car. Just seeing her there made his heart beat fast. It was like she was going in slow motion. She had on these high-waist jeans and a black midriff that accentuated every curve and contour of her body. He felt fascinated.

He took out his phone and sent her a quick text. _You're so beautiful._ Then he waited and watched as she felt it vibrate in her purse. She reached in, took it out, and froze as she read what it had to say.

He grinned, loving that she looked so . . . touched. That a simple compliment from him could make her feel so much.

When she glanced up from her phone, her eyes instantly met his, and just like it had been in the classroom the other day, it was a lengthy, inflamed gaze. Had Dylan not been in the car, had she not been in mom-mode, he wondered what could have happened. Would she have gone home with him? Would they have slept together again?

She put her phone away and got in the car. He watched her drive away.

That night, he lay in bed flat on his back with his hands behind his head. There were plenty of things he could have been doing, productive things like studying or reading the assigned chapters for the many classes in which he was continuing to lag behind. But he had no motivation to do any of that. If he tried, he'd just end up stopping the second his mind became occupied by her again.

He wondered when he would see her next. The answer wasn't clear. Sure, she'd shown up in class last Friday, but what had happened afterward may have dissuaded her from showing up tomorrow. He assumed she wouldn't be there, and that didn't work for him.

He wanted to see her. He had to see her.

...

When she was little, Maria vividly recalled her mother doing a lot of cleaning, even when nothing needed it. Dusting, vacuuming, laundry . . . you name it, and she'd done it. Only when she'd gotten older had Maria realized that cleaning was her mom's way of overcoming stress and anxiety. By being productive, she was able to forget how miserable she was, particularly during her divorce with Maria's father.

The cleaning method didn't work for everyone, though. Maria had started just shortly after waking up, and even though she'd been at it for hours, she didn't feel any better.

She sat on the living room floor, dusting off the television stand. Then she started trying to reorganize some of Dylan's Wii and Xbox games. They had a shelf for them, but most of the time, they just ended up scattered all over the floor. Even the monotony of alphabetizing all of those, however, failed to distract her.

The doorbell rang, and she said a silent prayer that it was Liz. Preferably Liz with Scarlet, because that little girl could definitely distract anyone. Hell, she'd even take Isabel at this point, because at least fighting would give her something to _focus_ on.

When she opened up the door, the very source of her stress was standing on the other side. "Michael," she said, wishing it felt worse to see him. Maybe, if she'd just hated him and hated what he was doing to her, then she could have just slammed the door in his face.

"Can I come in?" he said, phrasing it as a question, even though he didn't wait for an answer. He stepped right past her without a formal invitation. "Are Max and Dylan around?" he asked, peering down the hallway.

"No." She shut the door as her eyes traveled up and down his body, taking in every well-built inch of him. "Max is at work. Dylan's at school." She had hours to kill by herself today. By _herself._ Not with him.

"So it's just us then?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

What did _that_ mean? Her mind was already running wild. "You shouldn't be here," she said, walking back over to the TV. She bent down and picked up the dust can and dirty cloth, halfheartedly continuing her household chores.

"I know," he said quietly.

She shook her head, frustrated with him. Why would he come see her if he knew it wasn't a good idea? Was he just trying to make things harder? "What do you want then?" she demanded shakily, keeping her back to him.

It took him a few seconds, but when he finally answered, it was at once exactly what she did _and_ did not want to hear. "I want you."

She inhaled sharply, feeling like she could break apart into a million pieces. Setting the cleaning supplies back down, she whirled around. "Michael, I . . ." Even though she was ready to lecture him, maybe even yell at him, she stopped short when she saw that longing look in his eyes. It was like nothing she'd ever seen before, even from him. Because it went beyond longing, actually. It was . . . like a craving. Like he was _craving_ her.

"I want you, too," she whimpered, her mouth betraying her mind. She knew she shouldn't have said that. "But we can't."

"We already have," he reminded her, sauntering closer, a mischievous grin on his face. "Twice."

Her whole body shuddered as he came up right in front of her. She could feel the heat emanating from him. It made her skin flush.

"I can't stop thinking about it, can you?" he asked, gently threading one hand through her hair.

It was all she'd thought about this morning, all she'd thought about last night and the entire weekend. "No," she confessed, wishing she had more willpower than that.

"No?" He encircled his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, one hand tickling the small of her back while the other traced up her spine. "I feel like I'm goin' crazy if I'm not touching you."

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, reveling in the simple touches, but common sense fought back, and she reluctantly pushed him away. "You have to stop, though."

"Why?" he challenged.

She looked up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to understand. "Because it's wrong."

He no longer seemed as bothered by that as she was. In fact, at this point, he almost seemed completely unfazed. "It was wrong last time, too," he pointed out, "and the time before that."

 _But this makes it worse,_ she told herself, trying so hard to be logical. The more they did this, the worse they were.

"You know, it wouldn't be wrong if you just told Max the truth," he suggested.

She shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not gonna do that."

He moved in closer again, and his hands found her waist. "Well, then, we have a problem," he said, lowering his head so that he was speaking right into her ear. " 'cause you're with him, but . . ." His voice was low and sensual and sent tingles up her back. "I wanna make love to you."

She squeezed her eyes shut and shivered.

"If you want me to," he added as an afterthought.

It definitely wasn't a question of want; that much was clear. The pure, unadulterated desire was there, now more than ever. But her conscience, the fragile remains of it . . . it wanted her to hold back.

"Michael, sex with you . . ." She took a step back, but not far enough that his hands were no longer on her sides. "It's not just something I can forget. I tried, but . . ." A tear slipped out of the corner of her right eye, and she didn't even wipe it away. "It's like I'm addicted or something."

He smirked.

"It's not funny," she said.

His smirk disappeared, and his expression grew serious again. "Well, then, I'm addicted, too, I guess," he openly admitted. "I always have been."

She chanced a glance down from his face, fixating on his chest, on the button at the top of his shirt that was undone. Even seeing the smallest expanse of his skin drove her wild with impulse. "If we were to do this . . ." she said, moving his shirt to the side so that her fingertips could brush against his heart. It was beating so fast.

"If we were?" he echoed, bending his head down.

As if they had a mind of her own, her fingers found the second button of his shirt unbuttoned it as well. "No one can know," she said as more of his chest came into view.

"Our little secret," he swore, gazing at her. "I promise."

"But it's so wrong," she weakly protested one last time.

"I don't care."

She _did_ care. But not enough to stop. Tilting her head back to look him in the eye, she told him what to do. "Put your hands on me, Michael."

Clearly he didn't need to be told twice.

His hands slid around her back to pull her whole body up against his, and his mouth captured hers at the same time. The rush of feelings was almost an assault on her body, one so powerful that she had to hold onto his shoulders for support. Almost instantly, it felt like her legs were giving out, and much to her relief, he moved his hands down over her backside to hoist her up. She wrapped her legs around him as he carried her down the hall.

As if he'd been in that bedroom a thousand times before, he lay her down on the mattress and climbed on top of her in one fluid motion. The look in his eyes was an intense one as he hovered above her, situating himself in between her legs. He rolled his denim-clad hips against hers as he plunged his tongue into her mouth.


	64. Chapter 64

Michael was on a high when he got back to his apartment that night. His mind was so elsewhere that someone could have jumped right out in front of him as he strode down the hallway, and he wouldn't have even noticed.

He kept hearing her in his head. All her lustful moans, contented sighs. Those sharp little gasps for air when she dug her fingers into his shoulders even more. He grinned as all those sounds reverberated off the walls of his mind. Knowing that he could do that to her, give her so much pleasure . . . it was the greatest feeling in the world.

When he pushed open the door to his apartment, though, the harsh reality came crashing back in, ruining his fantasy world. Sarah was standing there, staring down at the bed that she'd gotten so used to sharing with him, and she didn't even look up when he stepped in.

"Hey," he said, surprised to see her there.

It took a few seconds for her to snap herself out of her daze. "Oh, hey," she said, casting him the quickest of glances before settling her eyes onto that bed again. "I just . . . I just stopped by to meet with Brody," she explained, "get my name removed from our housing contract."

Well, that was awfully official, wasn't it? "Oh," he said, not sure how to react.

"And I just thought I'd come up here one more time before I turn in my key." She smiled when Shango pawed at her foot and then bent down to pet him.

"You can stay as long as you want," he told her, removing his coat so he could hang it up next to the door.

"Actually, I was just leaving," she said quickly, making a beeline for the door, as if she suddenly couldn't get out of there fast enough. Maybe she felt okay being reminiscent when he wasn't around. Maybe when he was there, she wanted to be stronger.

He reached out to grab her arm, stopping her, but then he thought better of it and slowly let go. "So you got a place off-campus?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Livin' by yourself?"

She lowered her head, scraping at a small stain on the carpet with the toe of her shoe. "Yep."

Carlsbad wasn't a bad town by any means, but he still worried about her. "Be careful," he cautioned, wishing she'd have a roommate.

Raising her head again, she glared at him. "I can take care of myself. Probably a lot better than you can," she growled. "I mean, have you even _thought_ about washing the dishes?"

He frowned. _Dishes?_ What did dishes have to do with this?

"Or cleaning the bathroom? Or just picking up around here at all?" Her voice started to shake, and her agitation increased. "And you—you have no food in the refrigerator, Michael. How are you supposed to cook . . . with no food? What're you gonna eat?" The tears started to fall, and she shook her head, trying to wipe them away. "God, I'm being stupid," she muttered.

 _No,_ he thought. It wasn't stupid at all. It broke his heart that she was worried about the simplest of things with him, things that he could do just fine. Things that she'd gotten accustomed to doing for him.

"I just . . . I don't know why this had to happen," she murmured, reaching for the door. She slipped past him and slammed it shut on her way out.

He sighed heavily, feeling like a jackass. Like he'd just gone from the highest high to the lowest low in the blink of an eye.

...

Like an old married couple already, Kyle and Tess sat up together in bed that night. She was diligently reading one of the baby books, and he was supposed to be paying attention, reading along with her. But he was bored. Those books were just repetitive at this point. He felt like he had a pretty good grasp on what was to come.

"So what exactly is our plan for tomorrow?" he asked, hoping to draw her attention away from _What to Expect When You're Expecting._

"We're gonna help Sarah move into her new place," she replied, flipping the page.

"And how are we gonna do that? I can't do any heavy lifting. You can't do any heavy lifting."

"I . . ." She looked up from her book long enough to contemplate it. ". . . am gonna add decorative touches to the place. I don't know what you're gonna do. Stand around and look hot, maybe?"

He chuckled, glad to know that he'd done enough working out to be considered hot again. "I should call Monk and Fly," he presented, "see if they can help."

Tess made a face and looked down at the pages again. "Monk's not gonna be able to lift anything. He's a string bean."

"Alright, maybe Steve then," he reconsidered.

"Yeah, that's better." She turned the page once more, but then she finally stopped reading, looked up, and even set the book aside, keeping it open so she didn't lose the page. "You know what? I like Steve," she chirped.

"Yeah, he's a good guy," Kyle agreed.

"And a good friend," she added pointedly. "Maybe he could be your best man."

He groaned, sitting up straighter. "Tess, we've been through this. I want it to be Michael."

"And I don't. So what do we do?"

 _So stubborn,_ he thought, determined not to just give in and agree with her. Not this time. It meant too much to him to just let her have her way. "We don't even have a wedding date set yet, so maybe we just wait and see if you change your mind," he suggested.

"Or you."

"I'm not gonna."

"Well, neither am I."

He took a deep breath in order to keep himself calm, knowing that nothing would get accomplished if this turned into an argument. "Tess, it's my decision," he pointed out rationally. "You choose your maid-of-honor, I choose the best man. That's how it works."

"Except you've chosen the _worst_ man," she protested dramatically. "That's what I have a problem with."

"Are you serious? He used to be one of your closest friends, too."

"Used to be," she huffed, picking up her book again. Instead of continuing to read, though, she bookmarked her page and set it aside on the nightstand. "Goodnight, Kyle," she said sternly, effectively closing the door on that conversation before turning out the light. Closing the door for tonight, at least. He'd bring it up again tomorrow and keep bringing it up until she gave in.

...

At this point, the theme song from _Frozen_ was so overplayed and over-covered that it was annoying to hear _anyone_ sing it, even a good singer. So hearing dozens of high-pitched little girls singing it at the Pound Elementary music concert on Friday night was downright torturous. The only thing that salvaged it was how cute they all were.

"Am I the only one wondering why they're singing a _wintery_ song at the _spring_ concert?" Maria leaned over to ask Max.

"My brain can't function enough to wonder," he mumbled in response. "How much of this do we have to sit through?"

"A lot." She took a look at her schedule, wishing they hadn't shown up so early. Dylan's music teacher had been very clear that all the students were supposed to be there forty-five minutes ahead of time. Why? That was the mystery. It had been forty-five minutes of sitting in uncomfortable, fold-up chairs, crammed in like sardines with other parents and family members who were struggling not to yawn.

"They have another song after this," she told him, "and then the first, second, and third grade girls sing. _Then_ we get to the boys. And then everybody sings together at the end."

Max groaned, looking like he would have rather been anywhere else tonight. "And you think basketball tournaments are boring."

She laughed, and even though it was a quiet laugh, she still garnered a "Shh!" from the man in front of her, who was recording the current performance on his phone.

Maria tried to focus on the adorable little girls—because really, they _were_ adorable. She tried as hard as she possibly could, but she just felt her attention diverting elsewhere. Almost like there was something there that had this magnetic pull over her eyes. Or some _one_.

She looked to the side, and there was Michael, standing up in the back row. He was slinking along behind proud, smiling fathers, not even pretending to be interested in the song that was being sung. His eyes were glued onto hers, and they gleamed with mischief.

Her stomach muscles fluttered as she tried to be unaffected. But it was impossible not to be. She couldn't just sit there and listen to the _Frozen_ song when that look in his eyes was anything but frozen. It was molten hot.

Inconspicuously, she glanced out the corner of her eye and tracked his movements through the crowd. He grinned at her and headed out of the commons area, ducking down the closest hallway. And obviously he intended for her to follow him. Sexually, their week together had been amazing. They'd gone back to his place and done it after class today, but they'd had to cut it short because he'd gotten a call to fill in for someone at work. Clearly he was still . . . unsatisfied. And she loved knowing that she could satisfy him.

She double-checked the schedule as "Let It Go" came to an end. Clapping halfheartedly, she figured that she had enough time to slip away and make it back before Dylan's performance. Just a quickie. A quick fix.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," she told Max, handing him her schedule. "I'll be back." She left her purse with him and ducked down as she squeezed out of the row, not wanting to be in the way of anyone's video. As the little girls started singing their next song—an old-school _Hannah Montana_ one this time—she managed to squeeze through the crowd of people and slip into the hall.

 _Have to make this subtle,_ she thought, traipsing right past the bathroom as though she already knew exactly where she was going. She walked all the way down to the end of the hall and then had to take either a left or a right. On gut instinct alone, she took a left. She slowed her pace, waiting for Michael to pop out of somewhere, or whistle to get her attention and motion her into some secluded room. But she couldn't find him.

"Michael?" she called quietly, sort of liking the sense of adventure. There was something thrilling about being with him right underneath all these people's noses.

Suddenly, just when she was about to give up hope on this hallway and backtrack, a hand shot out from the big double doors that led outside, and she gasped in delight as Michael pulled her out of the hall.

They ended up in the back parking lot of the school, which existed only for busses and school vans. They slipped in between two busses, perfectly concealed even though there was no one around, and it didn't take much convincing for her to get on her knees once she heard him unzip his pants. She took his cock into her mouth and bobbed her head up and down rhythmically, sucking, licking, taking in as much of him as she could. She'd done this enough before to know exactly what he liked, and it helped that he pretty much liked it all.

He leaned back against the bus, his hips unusually still as he allowed her to control the pace of it. Groaning, grunting, he pressed his head back and closed his eyes sometimes, only to then open again and look down at her. He liked watching. He always had.

She moved her hand in time with her mouth, squeezing gently but pumping insistently. When she stopped sucking and traced her tongue around the tip of his penis, that seemed to do him in. A low growl escaped his throat, and he grabbed her head and thrust himself back into her mouth, moving his hips forward and back just a few more times before he came. Hard. It was warm and salty and coated her mouth. Some of it slipped out the sides.

When it seemed like he was done, she pulled back, careful to keep as much of it in as she could. She knew Michael loved it when she swallowed, so she did, letting it slide down the back of her throat while wiping away what little had spilled onto her chin. It was a unique taste, but not a horrible taste by any means. If anything, the sheer eroticism of drinking down Michael's cum was staggering. Besides, he always lapped up everything her body gave him. Every drop he could get.

Tilting her head to the side flirtatiously, she peered up at him and asked, "Did you enjoy that?"

He laughed dazedly, stroking his cock as it started to go limp. "Yeah."

 _Of course you did,_ she thought. He was a guy. Guys loved getting head.

Getting to her feet, she readjusted her own clothes. Before getting down on her knees, he'd been pretty grabby, probably thinking that they were going to have full-on sex. But it was cold outside, and she was more than happy to treat him to this tonight.

"How long were we out here?" she asked, wondering if time had actually gone as quickly as it felt like it had. Surely that couldn't have been more than five minutes . . . right?

"I dunno," he answered, still off on another planet. Clearly the wrong person to ask.

 _Oh god,_ she thought, panicking a bit. What if she'd stayed out there too long? What if Dylan was getting ready to sing right now? She tried to leave, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

"Hey . . ."

Despite knowing that she had to get back inside, she let him bring her in close, close enough that his head could dip in for a kiss. She knew he had to be tasting his own semen on her lips, which was probably why he let the kiss linger.

As much as she would have loved to have stayed out there with him, and as tingly as she was feeling at the juncture between her legs, she knew she'd been gone long enough. She had to get back in there so she could watch her son perform.

"I gotta go," she told him, letting go of his hand.

On the way back through the hallways, she stopped at a drinking fountain and took a big gulp to get rid of the taste in her mouth. She dabbed at the corners of her lips, wiping away and smudged lipstick, and clumsily made her way back through the crowd, apologizing as she tripped over a few people's feet this time.

"Where was that bathroom?" Max asked when she sat back down again. "Siberia?"

"There was a line," she lied, looking up at the stage. The boys were singing now, but it was already the older boys. The ones who were scheduled to go _after_ Dylan's group. "Oh, no, did I miss it?" she bemoaned.

"Yeah," Max confirmed.

"Did you film it?" At least seeing it on video would be better than nothing.

"I tried, but my phone stopped halfway through, right before his solo."

"Solo?" she echoed, mortified. Her son had sung his first ever solo in a music concert, and she'd missed it? "Oh god."

"He did good, though," Max told her.

Yeah, she was sure he did. He was her son, after all. Maybe music wasn't his passion, but he still had a good voice.

"It's okay," Max said, reaching over to put his hand on her leg. "I got some of it recorded. And you can see him with the whole group at the end."

She sighed, supposing that was better than nothing. But still . . . it didn't make up for missing his performance. He'd been singing, and she'd been out back giving a blow-job. What the hell was wrong with her?

...

Liz couldn't seem to express her gratitude enough when Max stopped by her house Saturday morning to pick up Scarlet. "Thanks for watching her today," she said. "I just really need to get this tax stuff done, and when you own your own business like I do . . . well, it can be time-consuming."

"No problem." Max carried his tired little girl towards the door in one arm, bending down to pick up her bag of toys with the other. "I like spending time with her."

Liz smiled. "Well, she likes spending time with you."

 _Good,_ he thought. Hopefully it would always be that way. Hopefully he would never make any mistakes with her.

Stopping in the doorway, he frowned, mentally debating whether or not to ask Liz something. It'd been weighing on his mind for a few days now, and if there was anyone he could talk to about it, it was her. Liz was probably his best friend. She always listened to anything he had to say.

"Hey, can I ask you somethin'?" he started in.

"Sure."

He rubbed Scarlet's back as she moved in his arms a bit, but she didn't wake up. She just turned her head so that a different cheek was resting against his shoulder. Quietly, he inquired, "Do you know anything about this whole Michael/Sarah break-up?"

Liz looked a bit surprised that _that_ was his question. "Well . . . I know Sarah's really heartbroken," she replied. "I know it was Michael's decision. Beyond that, I don't really know much. Why?"

He sighed, embarrassed that he'd already spent so much time thinking about it. "Isabel."

She tilted her head to the side inquisitively.

"She said some stuff the other day that got me wondering," he explained.

"Wondering what, exactly?"

"Wondering . . ." He hated even saying it out loud, but Liz was the person he felt most comfortable saying it to. ". . . if Michael still has feelings for Maria." The mere thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Maybe that's why he ended things with Sarah, you know?"

"That's kinda what I thought at first," Liz admitted.

"At first?" he echoed.

"Yeah, but then I talked to Sarah the other day. She didn't say one thing about Maria."

"She didn't?"

"No."

"Oh." _Interesting._ That sure as hell made him feel better. More reassured. "Well, that's good I guess." But still, even though that was pretty compelling, he couldn't help but wonder if that was the whole story. "Do you think he _does_ still have a thing for her, though?" Anyone else's opinion wouldn't have mattered much, but whatever Liz thought was important to him.

"I think he'll always have a thing for her, to be honest," she confessed, "but I don't know if that _thing_ is enough to make him break up with his fiancée."

"Yeah." He nodded, letting that sink in. Logically . . . that would make sense. Some residual feelings, but nothing earth-shattering. If that was all that Michael felt for Maria, then he could handle that.

But what if it wasn't? What if he did still feel something and it _was_ strong enough to break up him and Sarah? Max wasn't trying to be a pessimist, and he didn't want to fear the worst, but something in him just refused to be placated.

"I don't know, maybe you should just talk to her," Liz suggested.

"To Sarah?" Maybe that would work.

"No, Maria," she amended. "If she knows anything, she'll be honest with you, right?"

"Right." He didn't want it to seem like _she_ was the one he was doubting, not when she hadn't even done anything wrong. "I trust her, obviously," he put forth. "I'm just not so sure I trust Michael."

"So talk to Maria," Liz said again. "Sound good?"

"Yeah." He smiled, grateful for her advice. "Thanks, Liz." She always knew exactly what to say to keep him calm. No wonder raising Scarlet with her was so easy.

...

Michael yawned as he staggered towards the door, clumsily tripping over his own feet on the way there. "Kyle, I told you, we'll work out later," he groaned. "I'm sleepin' in today." When he opened the door, though, it was definitely not Kyle on the other side.

His mom smiled at him and said, "I'm not here to work out."

 _Oh, shit,_ he thought, figuring she was there to lay into him. They hadn't spoken once since he'd come back to Carlsbad, so she was probably still pissed at him.

She didn't _look_ pissed, though, which made him relax a bit, and even a crack a smile of his own.

Since she was there, sleeping in wasn't really an option. So he got out of bed and got ready while she made breakfast. They small-talked their way through the morning, and then, closer to lunch time, he took her out on a walk across campus. She kept marveling at how big it was, even though, compared to other campuses, it was downright small. It probably seemed big to her, though, since she'd never gotten to go to college.

She was more than eager to show him all the pictures on her phone, photo after photo of Joe. Joe in the sink, getting a bath. Joe asleep in his crib. Joe drinking from a bottle. Joe, Joe, Joe.

"Jesus Christ, Mom, how many pictures did you take?" Michael asked her, astonished.

"Oh, hundreds," she acknowledged. "I can't help myself. He's a very photogenic baby."

"Well, at least you finally learned how to use your camera phone." He handed it back to her when he finally got all the way back to the pictures at the hospital. He'd seen all those before. "Something tells me you didn't come all this way just to show me pictures of Joe, though."

She put her phone away in her purse, admitting, "No, of course not."

 _Of course._ The morning with her had been nice, but there were more serious things to discuss. He spotted an open bench outside the English department building and sat down, scooting over so that she had room to sit down beside him.

"I felt like we needed to talk," she said. "Face to face. The way we left things was just so . . . unsettled."

He nodded in agreement, regretting that he hadn't made the effort to call her and at least check in. Things at home had to be pretty stressful on her right now. Even if Tina and Nicholas were doing a decent job taking care of Joe (which she assured him they were), obviously she had to be helping.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked her, slightly afraid of the answer.

"I don't think I was ever really _mad_ ," she said, reaching over to put her hand on his leg.

"Just disappointed." Wasn't that the line parents always used?

"Well . . . yes," she said. "And I hate to say that. It's so cliché."

"It's alright. I get it." He'd fully expected it, and that's why he'd been reluctant to tell her.

She withdrew her hand, letting out a sigh before scooting a little closer and asking, "So how have you been?"

"Fine," he answered vaguely. "Busy." Truth was, he'd been more than fine. These past few days with Maria . . . they'd been mind-blowing. And last night at the music concert . . . god, the girl just had a way with him.

"And Sarah?" she prompted.

All it took was one mention of her for Michael to remember how _bad_ he felt in addition to how good he felt. "Uh, she . . . she moved out," he told her, "found a place off-campus. Tess and Kyle just helped her move in the other day."

"And emotionally, is she . . .?" His mom trailed off, but it wasn't like she had to finish the question for him to know what she was asking.

"She's pretty torn up," he admitted. "But she's Sarah. She's strong; she's smart. She's not gonna let this ruin her whole life." If there was anything he knew for sure, it was that Sarah Nguyen would emerge from this whole thing just fine. She'd get her degree and find someone a hell of a lot better than him to marry someday. She'd get a happy ending, and he'd be so glad for her. Proud of her.

"I just feel so bad for her," his mother said.

"I know. And I'm not tryin' to make it sound like I don't care. I mean, I feel horrible. I never meant to hurt her." He hung his head, looking down at his feet, and mumbled, "I still love her; I want the best for her. And the best thing for her is to not be with me."

"I understand," she said. "And I even agree. I guess I just . . . well, I just wish you'd ended things with her _before_ you and Maria . . ." She trailed off, as if she didn't even want to speak of it.

"Me, too," he whispered. At this point, it felt like fate that he and Maria had ended up back together, even if it was a secretive together for now. But even if that had been destined to happen all along, he knew he still could have gone about it in a different way. A better one.

"And what about Maria?" his mom asked. "What's she been up to?"

 _Screwing me, mostly,_ he thought. They'd had a hell of a frisky week, and to be quite honest, he had hopes of seeing her later this afternoon, too. But that would require his mom's visit to be a short one.

"I don't know. We haven't really talked since . . ." He trailed off, hating that he had to lie to her. But she couldn't have any idea about what was really going on behind closed doors. "So I don't know."

"Is she still with Max?" she asked, her lips drawn tight.

"Yep."

His mother sighed warily. "Well, that's her decision about how to handle things then."

"You think it's gonna blow up in her face?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

 _I wouldn't be devastated,_ Michael thought. If something happened that _forced_ Maria to tell Max, he'd throw a fucking parade. "What if it does?" he asked. "Or what if she changes her mind and just tells him?" That was actually the ideal scenario, that it would happen solely because it was her decision. "What if we get back together? How would you feel about that?"

"Honestly?" His mom stared at him, narrowing her eyes in contemplation. "Apprehensive," she replied. "Because you're life's just been so steady and secure these past few years. I'd hate to see that change."

"It won't," he assured her. Just because Maria complicated his life didn't mean she ruined it.

"I think it already is." His mother looked down at her lap sadly, then cleared her throat and looked back at him. "I, um . . . I got an email yesterday from the scholarship office," she told him.

His stomach clenched. _Great._ He'd gotten an email, too, and if he hadn't been so focused on having sex with Maria, he would have been stressing out about it.

"Seems like they're monitoring your grades pretty closely right now," his mom went on. "If they don't go up before the end of the semester, they're not gonna renew your scholarships for next year."

It was a nerve-racking thought, especially since he'd accumulated quite a few scholarships these past few years, all of which had GPA stipulations attached to them. "Yeah, I just gotta work harder," he said nonchalantly, trying to make it seem like it would be no big deal.

"A lot harder," she emphasized. "Those scholarships have really helped you out, Michael. I don't want you to lose them."

"I know." Hell, it wasn't what he wanted, either. "I'll handle it."

"You promise?" she asked skeptically. "You promise me you'll go back home after I leave, crack open the books, and study?"

A couple of months ago, he would have done so willingly. But right now, even with the threat of losing his scholarships, it just didn't feel like enough motivation. "Yep," he assured her, nodding. "Yeah, that is . . . exactly what I'm gonna do." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they just weren't true.

...

"Uh!" Maria moaned loudly, throwing her head back in ecstasy as her orgasm ripped through her. She dug her hands into Michael's shoulders and tightened her legs around his waist as he pressed up into her a few more times. His chest rubbed against hers, and he soon followed her over the edge.

"Oh . . ." he groaned during his release. "Shit."

A pleasant warmth spread through her whole body, through every vein and artery, all the way from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes. She felt completely and utterly satiated. It was a _great_ feeling.

Even though she pretty much loved every single sexual position with Michael, sitting up with him like this was definitely one of her favorites. The proximity alone was mind-blowing. There was something so addictive about being able to feel all the sweat on his body as it slid against hers. The boy had definitely exerted himself.

"That was _so_ good," she told him, reveling in it for as long as she could, for as long as her mind would remain ignorant to that clock on the nightstand.

"Yeah," he agreed, his breathing muffled against her shoulder.

As much as she would have loved to just keep sitting there in the middle of that mattress with him, delighting in the fact that he was still inside her, she knew she couldn't. When she did force a glance at the clock, it was a harsh reality. "But I have to go," she whimpered, disappointed that time had flown by so fast.

"What? Why?" he whined, actually tightening his arms around her, as if he wasn't going to let her go.

"I was supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago," she pointed out. He'd already distracted her long enough.

"Stay," he said pleadingly, thread his hand through her hair.

"I can't." She would have loved to, but it just wasn't feasible. "Help me out here," she said, forcing herself off of his lap. The loss of sensation as his cock, limper now, slid out of her was devastating. "I gotta get dressed," she said, peering down over the side of her bed. Her jeans were there, but where the hell were the rest of her clothes? She swung herself down over the edge, legs and waist still on the mattress as she looked underneath. "Have you seen my underwear?" she asked, because her shirt and bra had gotten kicked under the bed, but her underwear were still nowhere to be seen.

"No," he replied. "But I _am_ seein' plenty of stuff I like."

She giggled a little, knowing she must have been giving him quite a view of her backside right now.

"Maria."

"What?" She lifted her head up, and damn if he didn't look so unbelievably sexy sitting there naked on the bed, twirling her panties around on his index finger.

"How'd you get that?" she asked, getting back up onto the bed.

"I have my ways." He smirked, holding the panties just out of her reach when she tried to grab them.

"Give 'em back," she said.

"They're mine now."

"Um, hello, it's _my_ underwear."

"Exactly." He grinned. "I'm starting a collection."

"Oh my god, give it!" She climbed back onto his lap, getting up on her knees, trying to reach them as he held them back and above his head. Finally, he just sent them flying towards the other side of the room with a flick of his wrist. "Michael!" she yelped, whacking his shoulder playfully.

"What? Everyone needs a hobby."

"And collecting my underwear is _your_ hobby?"

He shrugged, putting his hands on her waist. "One of them."

"What's the other one?"

He leaned forward so that he could murmur his response in her ear. "Sex with you."

A pleasurable tingle shot up her spine. " _That's_ your hobby?"

"No, it's my favorite thing ever." He kissed her cheek, then bent his head to kiss the side of her neck and her shoulder.

His mouth felt so good on her body, she couldn't help but close her eyes and moan contentedly. "Mmm . . ."

"My very favorite," he promised, lips moving against her skin.

 _Oh god,_ she thought, overwhelmed. If he kept kissing her like this and talking to her so flirtatiously, she was never going to get out of there. "Stop it," she said, pushing his shoulders back slightly. "I have to get dressed."

"But I want you to stay _un_ dressed," he protested. "So then I can do this." He lifted her left breast in the palm of his hand, bending his head so he could press a sucking kiss to it. "And this." Then he switched to the other one, tracing his tongue around her nipple before giving it a gentle bite. "And this."

She gasped suddenly when she felt his hand slip between her legs, his middle finger tracing her lower lips. Good God, this guy possessed more sexual ability than the Kamasutra instruction manual itself.

"You're making it really hard to leave," she told him, rubbing herself wantonly against his hand.

"Good." He removed his fingers suddenly, as if that had just been meant to give her a taste. "I want you to stay."

The way he said it was so innocent-sounding, even though his intentions were clearly the opposite. "You know I can't," she said. It broke her heart to not just give in.

"But I want you to." His expression started to shift from playful and teasing to sad and serious, and his hands settled in around her back rather than roaming all over friskily. "I hate how you always have to leave so soon after we're done. We never have any time left over to just lay together, hold each other, talk."

She rubbed his shoulders, noticing the fingernail marks she'd left there. "You hate doing those things."

"Not with you."

She sighed longingly. _Oh, Michael . . ._ He really knew how to pull at her heartstrings here, how to make her feel guilty for leaving even though the only thing to feel guilty about was showing up over there to have sex with him in the first place. "So what you're saying is, the next time I come over, we shouldn't have sex?" she teased. "We should just lay around and talk instead?"

He grinned. "No, we should do both."

Laughing lightly, she thought about how much she would like that. This little interlude right here was almost as enjoyable as the sex itself. Maybe just cuddling up in bed with him would be a euphoria all its own. They could do that for a little while . . . as long as she still found the strength to eventually get up and leave.

"Help me get dressed?" she asked him, knowing she'd already wasted another five minutes.

He looked her right in the eye and shook his head earnestly. "Never."

She wished his saying that would anger her, frustrate her at least; but it didn't. In fact, it only made her heart skip a beat.

By the time she got home, it was well after 7:00, nearly half an hour later than she'd told Max she would be home. She knew she was going to have to monitor the time more closely, keep herself on a better schedule. Too many late nights would be suspicious.

As she walked to the door, she got a text from Michael. She stopped to read it, thinking that it would be a romantic one. But rather than that, he'd gone the sexy route this time.

 _i came so hard for u today_

She felt herself blushing, amazed that she of all people could get such a strong physical reaction out of him.

She kept heading towards the door, but when she was up on the porch, she got another text. Turning her back to the door, she stood and read it, mesmerized by the words on the screen.

 _u turn me on so much_

She inhaled shakily, getting turned on herself as she imagined him lying unclothed in the bed they'd just fucked in, one hand holding his phone, the other maybe wrapped around his long, hard . . .

"Hey."

She spun around as Max opened the door, and with a swipe of her thumb, she deleted both text messages. "Hey," she said, putting her phone away.

When she stepped inside, he kissed her cheek and said, "I'm glad you're home."

"Yeah. Sorry I'm a little late," she apologized. "I had to wait for the new girl to show up, and when she finally got there, she had no idea what she was doing."

"Oh, the joys of work."

"Yeah, really." She bent down and removed her shoes, setting them by the door.

"Well, Dylan is cleaning his room, believe it or not," Max informed her, "and I got dinner covered."

"Really?" Her curiosity was piqued, but she didn't smell anything. "What'd you make?"

"Oh, I ordered pizza," he clarified. "Hope that's okay."

"Oh, that's more than okay," she assured him. "That's perfect." Pizza was a no muss, no fuss type of dinner, her favorite kind.

"Should be here in a few minutes," he said.

"Great." She went into the living room, setting her purse down on the floor next to the couch, and turned on the TV, yawning. "So how was Scarlet today?" she asked, flipping channels.

"Talkative," he replied, sauntering in after her. "Half the time I didn't know what she was sayin', but she was sayin' a lot."

"Cute." It was hard to believe that Scarlet was now nearly as old as Dylan had been the year they'd left Albuquerque and moved to Roswell to live with her mom. Until they got kicked out, anyway. Until they went to live with . . . _Micho_.

"Did Dylan play with her a lot?" she asked, hoping her little boy would be worn out tonight. He always wanted to stay up late on weekends, and she just didn't have the energy to handle that tonight.

"Yeah, he did," Max replied, pointing to the screen right as she bypassed some NBA game. She backtracked and set the remote down, knowing she'd have even more of an excuse to go to bed early if he got absorbed in this.

"Can we talk?" he asked suddenly.

She jerked her head towards him, alarmed by the seriousness of his tone. "Sure," she said, already trying to figure out what was on his mind. "About what?"

Instead of answering, he motioned to the couch and said, "Sit down."

She did so hesitantly, worriedly. "Is everything okay?"

"I think so," he said, slowly taking a seat next to her. "I just wanted to ask you about something."

Trying to remain calm and casual, she urged, "Okay, go ahead." But inside, she was freaking out.

"It's . . . about Michael."

The freak out began to multiply itself. She was sure her eyes got wider, but she tried not to seem nervous, tried to act like there was nothing to hide. "What about him?"

"Uh, well . . ." He licked his lips, waiting a moment before starting in. "This isn't all that easy to talk about, but . . ." He cringed, looking like he didn't even _want_ to ask the question, even when he was in the process of asking it. "Do you think Michael's still in love with you?"

 _Oh god,_ she thought, her heart pounding. _What does he know?_ "What?" she said, even laughing a little as if the mere thought of it was so ridiculous that it was amusing.

"I'm serious," he said.

Oh, she could tell that he was serious. That was what worried her most of all. "Why would you even think that?" she asked, trying to understand why this was all just coming out of _nowhere_.

"Well, I was talkin' to Isabel-" he started.

"Isabel?"

"Yeah, stupid I know. But she kept goin' on and on about how she thinks Michael still has feelings for you, and that's why he broke up with Sarah. And at first I just ignored her, but then I started thinkin' about it, and . . . I don't know. What if she's right?"

"Max . . ." She felt horrible for lying to him, but the truth would hurt him too much. "No. No, she's not," she assured him. "Michael is _not_ still in love with me. Trust me, I'd know if he was."

"Because Isabel said she talked to him, and it seemed like . . . like there was still somethin' there."

"Well, yeah, a friendship," she acknowledged.

"Something more than that."

She sighed heavily, wishing Miss Isabel had just kept her damn mouth shut. "Max, Michael and I aren't . . ." The words got caught in the back of her throat the first time she tried to say them, so she took a pause and then started in again. "There's nothing going on."

"No, I'm not saying there is," he clarified. "I'm not questioning you here, okay? I trust _you_ completely."

Her face didn't wince, but her heart grimaced.

"I know how committed you are to me and to our family," he went on. "But clearly Michael wasn't so committed to Sarah, even after getting engaged to her. So he's the one I wonder about."

She nodded solemnly, trying to find that perfect balance between being reassuring and not being _too_ reassuring that it seemed like she had something to hide. "I understand," she said. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, but I understand."

"I'm not worried," he corrected. "Just . . . I don't know. Curious, I guess."

 _Don't get too curious,_ she wanted to tell him. If he probed too deeply into this, he'd find a lot of answers he hadn't been looking for. "So Isabel's going around telling people Michael broke up with Sarah for me, huh?" she said, trying to turn some of the negative attention back on her instead. "Great. That'll do wonders for my reputation."

"I'm sorry," he apologized. With everything going on that he _didn't_ know . . . _he_ was actually the one who apologized to _her_. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, I'm not upset with you, Max; I'm upset with her. Trust me when I tell you she has _no_ idea what she's talking about, okay? She just wants to cause problems for us because she hates me."

"She's not causing problems, though," he said. "If you say he doesn't have feelings for you, then I believe you. One-hundred percent."

She smiled at him shakily, grateful beyond belief when the doorbell rang and she had a reason to get up. "Pizza's here," she said, shooting to her feet. When she turned her back to him and headed to the door, she let her smile dissipate completely, and a horrified expression took swept into its place.


	65. Chapter 65

Even though he was working a solo shift, Michael had no problem dozing off behind the desk on Sunday. In fact, he welcomed it. Mostly everyone had headed home for spring break, so it was dead as a doornail around there. Or at least it _was_ until he felt two familiar hands grab him and pull him to his feet with surprising strength.

Groggily, he tumbled back into the mail room with Maria, behind all the mailboxes. She shut the door and then reached up to pull the string that turned on the overhead light. Michael winced against the sudden brightness, trying to get his bearings as he woke back up again. "Right now?" he said. "In here?" Hell, it was kind of cramped, but he wasn't picky. "Alright, I'm down." He started to undo his jeans.

"Keep your pants on," she ordered sharply.

"Huh?" If she hadn't dragged him back there for sex, then what were they doing?

"We need to talk," she said.

"Oh." He shrugged. "Okay." Conversation was definitely not the norm lately, but it was fine by him as long as she didn't yell at him. Which, unfortunately, it seemed like she was about to do.

"I can't believe you, Michael," she hissed. "You have Kyle and your mom and Tina, yet you choose to talk to _Isabel_? I mean, of all people, _she's_ the one you talk to about us?"

"What? Isabel? I—I didn't say anything to Isabel," he stammered.

"Well, you must've, because she's been saying some interesting things to Max," she growled accusingly. "What happened?"

"Nothing." He wasn't about to stand here and get blamed for lying his ass off, just like she'd asked him to do. "She found out about me and Sarah, and she jumped to conclusions—the _right_ conclusions, by the way, but I didn't tell her that."

"So you lied."

"Like a fuckin' a rug."

She threw her hands up in the air, still exasperated. "Well, apparently you should've lied better, because she didn't believe you."

"Yeah, 'cause she's not an idiot."

"And neither is Max."

He grunted. "Could've fooled me."

"He knows how well Isabel knows you. He knows that something about your breakup with Sarah isn't right. So he's suspicious."

"Of us?"

"No. Just you." She lowered her head ashamedly, mumbling, "He says he trusts me completely."

"Hmm." He wasn't about to act all sympathetic when he really wasn't. "Ironic."

"Look, I told him there's no way you still have feelings for me, and he says he believes me, but . . . I think he's just saying that."

Michael shrugged. "You got a problem then."

"No, _we_ have a problem," she corrected adamantly. "We're in this together."

 _Always together,_ he thought. It didn't matter if keeping Max in the dark was her decision alone; he'd still agreed to it. "So what do you propose _we_ do then?" he asked.

She fell silent for a moment, looking like she was contemplating something, but he had a feeling she already had a plan in mind. "It's the housing department party tonight, right?" she said.

"Yeah." It was technically supposed to be a staff appreciation night, but over the years, it had turned into more and more of a spring break celebration. With fewer students left on campus and some dorms closed altogether, they'd have plenty of time off this week.

"Are you gonna go?" she inquired.

"Yeah. Are you?"

"Yeah."

He grinned, liking the sound of this. Perfect chance to slip away together.

"With Max," she added, much to his displeasure.

"Seriously?" How the hell were they supposed to slip away with him there?

"Yes. And I think you should bring a date, too," she suggested.

"A date." Had she officially lost her mind?

"Yes. I don't care who. Just some girl. Any girl. Not blonde, because you don't want her to look like a replacement me. But that way, Max can see you out with someone else, and that'll put his mind at ease."

He made a face, thinking that this sounded like more work than it was actually worth. "So I'm supposed to go out and score a date with some random chick, all within the next seven hours?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't be too hard for the legendary Michael Guerin."

"Oh, it's not," he boasted. There were plenty of girls who would jump at the chance to go out with him. It came with the territory of being so dastardly good-looking. "It's just . . . this is so stupid, Maria. Why go through the trouble of doing all of this when you could just tell him the fuckin' truth?"

"Not gonna happen," she stated decidedly, crossing her arms over her chest. "So . . . do we have a deal?"

Did they? Well, he sensed he didn't really get much of a choice in the matter. Besides . . . there was potentially some fun to be had in this scenario. "Sure, I'll bring a chick to this party tonight," he agreed. "Try not to be jealous."

"Try not to be obvious," she shot back, turning to leave.

"Hey." He grabbed her arm and pulled her back, grinning eagerly. "Are we still gonna do it?"

"Ugh," she groaned, rolling her eyes in annoyance before stomping out of the little room and shutting the door.

He shrugged and unzipped his pants anyway, figuring he might as well rub one out himself while he was back there.

...

The parking lot outside Vidorra seemed to be the only one on campus with any actual cars in it. Everything else was looking pretty deserted and shut down for the week. Vidorra was one of the few halls staying open, though, and what with the party happening there tonight, there were plenty of vehicles lined up.

Max brought the car to a stop in a space close to the entrance. "So you think this'll be fun?" he asked, taking the keys out of the ignition.

"Yeah," she replied. "I work with a lot of really nice people."

Max nodded, hesitating a moment before inquiring, "Is Michael gonna be here?"

 _He'd better be,_ she thought. The guy had one job tonight: to look cozy with some lucky girl. If he failed in that responsibility, she'd be furious with him.

"Maybe. Probably. I don't know," she answered vaguely, reaching over to put her hand on top of his. "Does it matter?"

He thought about it for a moment, then smiled at her and squeezed her hand gently. "No," he said. "We're gonna have a great time no matter what." He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it, then got out of the car.

She exhaled deeply, hoping tonight would help lessen his anxiety about . . . everything.

The party was in the lounge, which was a fairly expansive room down on the first floor, right across from the computer lab. There was a fireplace, couches, and even a pool table and foosball table. They had a snack table set up, containing a vast array of crackers and cheeses and chocolates, as well as a fountain of punch. Some very radio-friendly music was playing over a speaker system set up in the corner, and people were mingling and chattering and seemingly having a very good time.

"Pretty tame for a spring break party," Max remarked.

"It's the _housing_ department," she reminded him. "They can't exactly throw a kegger."

"Fine by me," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. "So who's who here?"

She glanced around and started point people out. "Well, there's Aubrey, the new girl. A little air-headed, but nice. And that's Spencer. He's a senior and he's worked here _forever_. And, let's see . . ." She spotted Brody in the corner, attempting to learn the whip and nae nae dance from some of the students. He was failing miserably, of course. "That's my boss, Brody," she told Max. "I'll have to make sure I introduce you. He's a really nice guy."

"Yeah, looks like it," Max said, scanning the room himself. He pointed over in the direction of the pool table and noted, "There's Michael."

Maria whipped her head in that direction, hoping to see some girl on his arm. But he looked like he was just shooting pool with a bunch of other guys. _Oh, you've gotta be kidding me,_ she grumbled inwardly. One job. One little job. "Do you wanna go say hi?" she asked Max. "Or . . ."

"We can, if you want to," he answered.

Maria looked over there again, noticing a pretty red-headed girl leaning back against the wall, her eyes trained on Michael, an intrigued grin on her face. She definitely didn't work for housing, so hopefully that was Michael's date. "Well, it'd probably be weirder if we didn't," Maria said to Max.

"Let's go then." He took her hand in his and led her through the crowd of people in that direction.

When they were close enough, Maria reached out and tapped his shoulder. "Michael."

He turned around, holding his pool cue in both hands. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she returned. "Having fun?"

He shrugged. "Kinda. You?"

"Oh, we just got here." She peeked at the redhead, hoping to see a glint of possessiveness in her eyes. If that was the girl Michael had found, then it was a job well done, because she was gorgeous. Perfect hair, perfect makeup. Even the perfect body, the kind that looked surgically enhanced even though it probably wasn't.

"Hey, Michael," Max said tersely.

"Max." Michael barely paid him any attention as the redhead finally sauntered up to him and territorially slinked her hands around his waist, leaning against him.

"So who's this?" Maria asked, happy to see that he'd followed through.

"Oh, this is Rachel," he answered. "My date."

"Hi," Rachel said, one of those movie star smiles spreading across her face.

"Hi, I'm Maria. This is my boyfriend Max."

"Nice to meet you," Max said, holding out his hand.

Rachel removed her hand from Michael just long enough to shake Max's. "You, too," she said. "Do you guys both work here?"

"No, just me, for a few months now," Maria said.

"Do you like it?"

She liked working with Michael; that was for sure. "Oh, it's definitely not the worst job I've ever had," she said. "What about you? You don't work here, right?"

"No, I'm doing some part-time modeling," Rachel informed her.

"Oh." She gave Michael an unsurprised look. "Of course." Of course he would go out there and find the only girl on campus who's beauty could possibly rival even Isabel's. That was a good thing, though. It was . . . believable, because that's what a single version of Michael would have typically done.

"Well, anyway . . . we should probably mingle," Maria said, linking her fingers with Max's. "Nice meeting you, Rachel."

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, still beaming that huge smile.

Maria pulled Max away, waiting for a reaction. When they were out of earshot, she got one.

"Huh," he grunted. "Gotta admit, I didn't see that coming."

"Oh, please, I did," she scoffed. "She's young and beautiful. That's Michael's type."

"But I didn't think . . ." Max glanced back at them for a second, then shrugged. "I guess I just didn't think he'd have a date tonight."

"Why, because he's still so in love with me?" she teased.

He laughed lightly.

"I'd say if there's any proof that he's not, it's right there," she said, watching the supposed couple over Max's shoulder. They were definitely playing up their connection. A lot. "They look like they're totally into each other," she said, trying to ignore the pangs of envy when Michael bent down behind Rachel, helping her line up her shot.

"Yeah," Max agreed. "Hey, maybe he broke up with Sarah for _her_."

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe he just wanted to play the field. I mean, Michael's not the type to settle down."

"He was ready to settle down with you," Max readily pointed out.

Subconsciously, Maria touched her left hand, right where her engagement ring had once been. "No, he wasn't," she mumbled. If he really had been, then she wouldn't have had to leave town. They would have followed through on all their plans, like getting married, moving to Alabama, maybe even having a kid of their own. They wouldn't have been scrambling to see each other in secret, stealing moments, kisses, touches.

"Look, maybe it's just none of our business," she said, hoping that they could close the book on this speculation altogether. "Now do you wanna stand here talking about Michael all night, or do you wanna enjoy your time with me?"

Obviously it was a no-brainer for Max. He smiled at her and leaned forward for a kiss, then wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. "I never doubted you," he promised, holding her close.

 _Even though you should have,_ she thought guiltily, staring over his shoulder at the person he _had_ doubted. The person whose hands were now squeezing Rachel's butt.

 _Hmm._ Maybe he was playing the part a little _too_ well.

...

Rachel's lousy shots ended up losing the pool game for Michael. He paid up twenty bucks to his opponent and assured Rachel that it was okay she sucked at pool. 'cause she still looked hot. Really, this short, tight black dress she had on . . . it was a winner.

"So how'd you get my number?" she asked as she followed him over to the punch bowl.

"Asked around."

"And you're not gay?"

He chuckled. "No."

"Then why'd you tell me you were on a date with that guy the other night?"

"It was a bromance night," he explained, picking up a cup and the punch ladle. "No chicks allowed."

"Oh. Are chicks allowed tonight?" she asked, tilting her head to the side flirtatiously.

He grinned, pouring himself an ample amount to drink. "Yeah, tonight chicks are definitely allowed."

"Good," she said, moving in a little closer, "because seriously, I think you're, like, the hottest guy I've ever met."

"I get that a lot," he boasted, "but thanks. You sure know how to stroke a man's ego."

"Oh, that's not all I know how to stroke."

"Forward. I like it," he remarked, taking a drink. Tasted pretty good for something non-alcoholic.

"So . . ." she said, tracing her index finger around the rim of the punch bowl. "Did you and the blonde girl used to hook up?"

"That obvious, huh?"

"Only very."

He looked around for Maria, eventually finding her over on the other side of the room. She and Max were talking to Brody now. "Used to," he said, wishing he could just go grab her and whisk her upstairs. Even if Max found out about it, he didn't care.

"And now you're friends?" Rachel made a face. "Lame."

"Hey, I've hooked up with lots of girls, but I'm not still friends with many of 'em. It's a big accomplishment."

"Congrats," she deadpanned. "Lots of girls, though, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. It's actually a pretty long list. Sarah Nguyen, future pharmacist. Maria DeLuca, love of my life. Isabel Evans, porn star. And it just goes on and on. There's actually another porn star on the list, too. She was my first." He swirled the liquid around in his cup, expecting her to start getting turned off any minute here with all these lurid little details. "Still into me?"

"Actually, yeah," she chirped without hesitation. "Honesty is . . . sexy."

He smirked at the irony of _that_ particular statement. "Yep," he agreed, his eyes flittering over to watch Maria again. "Honesty's important." He took another drink, watching her with Max, wondering if every single interaction was intentional and forced. That stupid son of a bitch had no idea just how many lies she was telling him at this point, but he deserved each and every one of them.

...

Apparently Brody was a basketball fan. Who knew? Maria hadn't, not until he and Max had started talking about it. Once they started, they just kept going, and soon enough, a two-minute meet-and-greet had turned into an unending conversation about a sport she didn't know or care anything about.

She was getting very bored very quickly, and that wasn't a good thing. Because if Max couldn't hold her attention, it would go elsewhere.

"It really does infuriate me when people compare LeBron to Jordan," Brody was saying. "It really does."

"I know," Max agreed emphatically. "I mean, LeBron's great and all, but Michael Jordan's in a league all his own. Everybody knows that."

Maria crossed her arms over chest and tapped her foot impatiently. Why did guys talk about sports so much? And why did they get so wrapped up talking to each other that they just forgot anyone else was even around?

The nice thing about being invisible to them was that she got a chance to look over at Michael again and see what he was up to. And goodness, he was up to a lot. Rachel was standing in front of him, her whole body leaning into his, her fingers hooked through his belt loops. He was looking down at her with this sensual, seductive look on his face, and one of his hands rested comfortably on her hip.

 _God, that's a little much,_ Maria thought, disgruntled. All Michael had needed to do was bring a date to the party and make it look convincing. Not _that_ convincing.

She tried to look away, but that lasted for only a few seconds, and then she was sneaking a peek at the two of them again. It was even worse now. Rachel's arms were around his neck, and his hand was on her ass, and they were kissing. Actually, legitimately _kissing_. Maria narrowed her eyes, trying to see if there was tongue involved. Oh god, hopefully not.

"Is your son a basketball fan, too?" Brody's question abruptly jerked her out of her jealous trance.

"What?" she said dazedly. "Oh, um . . . sort of. He played this year."

"He prefers football," Max said, just the slightest trace of bitterness in his voice.

"He's good at both, though," Maria added, just to try to make him feel better.

"Well, actually, he's a lot better at football," Max conceded. "He got started on it at a younger age, so . . ."

"Makes a difference," Brody said, nodding.

All of a sudden, Michael came zooming past, hauling a giggling Rachel with him. He looked like a man on a mission, like he wanted to get out of there. Maria's entire body tensed with alarm.

"Michael," Brody said, grabbing his arm. "You leaving already?"

Michael grinned and leaned in, speaking quietly to Brody but loud enough for Maria to hear. "Actually, Rachel and I are gonna continue the party back at my place, if you know what I mean."

"Oh. Well, by all means . . ." Brody trailed off uncomfortably. "You're not obligated to stay."

"Later," Michael said, quickly hustling off with Rachel. She scurried in front of him, and he gave her a little spank as they ran down the hallway and rounded the corner for the elevator.

 _Oh my god,_ Maria thought, feeling completely mortified. What the hell was happening? When had sex become part of the equation? She hadn't said one thing to him about sleeping with someone else. Just going on a date. Making it _look_ real. It wasn't supposed to _get_ real.

"Well, he seems to be bouncing back quickly," Max remarked.

"Very quickly," Brody agreed.

"Yeah," Maria added quietly, trying to smile, just so that Max wouldn't be able to tell just how upset she really was.

...

Spring break was a week of partying for some people, but for Jesse, it was all about business. Even when Isabel begged him to take her somewhere, maybe just to the beach for a day, he said he didn't have time. Apparently there was a whole list of things he had to do. Website maintenance. Video editing. Concept brainstorming. Eric and Courtney were taking a road trip to Palm Beach, doing the whole spring break thing the way it was meant to be done. But it seemed that Isabel would be stuck at home.

Since her boyfriend was occupied, she didn't feel the slightest bit bad about going out and pursuing her own avenues. She talked to Alex and arranged to meet up with him, telling him it was for academic reasons, even though it was primarily extracurricular. He wouldn't allow her to come to his apartment, nor did he want to go to her place. But he said a coffee shop was fine.

It was just the two of them when she showed up, which was nice. Quiet. Peaceful. Just the way a coffee shop was supposed to be without all those annoying college kids around. Alex was already there when she arrived, seated at a table by the window. He looked up and actually smiled when he saw her.

"Thanks for meeting me," she said, sitting down across from him.

"Well, you said it was important."

"It is." She reached down into her bag and took out the reason for their meeting, a hundred and two page document held together by a jumbo black binder clip. She slid it across the table, smirking proudly. "I've been doing some writing."

"I see that." Alex picked up the story and flipped through all the pages, his eyes widening at the amount of words on each one. It was single spaced, normal-sized font, so it definitely hadn't been a small endeavor. "What's it called?" he asked her.

" _My Life as a Pornstar,_ " she joked. "No, actually, I don't know. I just need something that'll catch people's attention."

"That'll do it." He started to read through the first page, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the words. "So obviously this is autobiographical."

"Yep." People had always been interested in her life back in high school, even before she'd done anything scandalous. Surely they'd be interested in it now that she had much more scandal to her name.

"Interesting," he said. "You know, though, most of the people who buy this would expect _Fifty Shades of Grey._ "

"I know. But that's not what it is at all." Her aim had not been to glamorize her lifestyle, but rather to depict it as realistically as possible. "It has more substance. I hope."

"I'm sure it does." Alex flipped to one of the pages in the middle randomly, and his eyes got wide when he read the words on the page. "Wow," he said. "Looks like some of it might be a little tough to read."

"Some of it is," she acknowledged. It was graphic and sometimes gritty. There were detailed descriptions of her first time having anal sex, her first time with another girl, the first time she'd allowed herself to be double-penetrated. Stuff like that. "I really wanna know what you think, though," she told him, well aware that it might be kind of weird for him to read all of this and picture her doing it. He was, after all, one of the few guys in this town who probably _hadn't_ subscribed. "I mean, I can't show it to Jesse or Courtney. They love what we do."

Alex set the story down, staring at her keenly. "And when did you stop loving it?"

"I never loved it," she admitted. "I just got used to it."

"So why do you keep doing it then?"

" _Because_ I'm used to it." As shocking and obscene as some of those chapters would be to him, they were just commonplace to her. And they would pale in comparison to the chapters of any memoir Courtney might ever produce. "Because I have nothing else," she added sadly, looking down at the table.

"You have this." He held up her story emphatically, as if trying to drive home a point. "You have talent, Isabel. You have potential."

She let that sink in and laughed a little. _Potential._

"What?" he asked.

She sighed, wishing that word didn't exist. "I used to tell Michael he had potential all the time," she recalled, understanding now that it wasn't so much a term of encouragement as it was a sad reminder of all that was lost, or rather just out of her reach.

"That's right, and look him now," Alex said. "I hear he's a pretty good guy."

"Oh . . ." Isabel shook her head skeptically. "I wouldn't be too sure about that." Maybe that was his college persona, but she just wasn't buying it. And if Alex had been more in-the-know about all the recent relationship dramatics, he probably wouldn't be buying it, either. He was too smart for that. It was a pity Max wasn't.

...

Maria waited for a few days after the housing party to reach out to Michael. She didn't want to seem desperate to hear from him, so she didn't call him, didn't text, didn't swing by his place. But secretly, she hoped he would do any of those things for her. Just something to let her know that he and Rachel weren't spending their entire spring break breaking the bed.

Finally, she couldn't take the not knowing anymore. She had to see him, but she wanted to be subtle about it, so she figured she'd catch him at the school instead. She got dressed in a nice, professional-looking shirt and pencil skirt, then strolled in on a day when she saw his car parked outside. She found him in the guidance counselor's office, without the guidance counselor around, of course. He was kicking back in her cushy chair, feet up on her desk, dozing.

"Is Vanessa here?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and took his feet down. "No, she had an appointment," he told her. "I think she might be pregnant."

"That's a pretty radical assumption, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "She threw up the other day."

Oh, the morning sickness. It was a distant memory for Maria at this point, but not a forgotten one. "Okay, maybe not so radical," she acknowledged. "Isn't Brody her boyfriend?" The thought of him doing anything sexual was sort of strange, because he was just _such_ a responsible guy.

"Yeah," Michael said, pulling out Vanessa's top desk drawer so he could fiddle around with the clips and erasers and other odds and ends inside. "I could see him being a good dad."

"Yeah, me, too." She watched him become utterly distracted by a rubber band. He put it on his hand and shot it like a gun at the wall, but it landed short on the carpet instead. Like a kid with ADD, he bent down to pick it back up and put it on his hand again.

"You need something?" he asked, narrowing his eyes as he shot it again. It landed smack dab in the middle of an Einstein poster this time.

"Oh, well, I just came to ask Vanessa . . ." She trailed off, struggling to come up with a feasible lie. What would she possibly be there to ask Vanessa about? Her son was in kindergarten, and he was a smart, well-behaved boy. There were no issues to address, no concerns to make her aware of. It had to be pretty obvious why she was _really_ there.

She stepped further into the office and shut the door, lowering her voice so the secretaries outside couldn't overhear. "I didn't come to see her, Michael. I came to see you."

"Figured as much," he said, retrieving the rubber band one more time. He put it back in the drawer and closed it. "What's up?"

 _Sound casual,_ she coached herself, _unaffected._ She didn't want to seem jealous. "Well, I just wanted to see . . . how it went with what's-her-face the other night." She cringed inwardly. So much for casual.

"What's-her-face," he echoed amusedly. "You mean Rachel? Oh, it went great."

"Really?" How great was great? Was it just good or . . . _really_ good?

"Yeah, she's a cool girl," he said. "We really got to know each other."

"Oh." She didn't like the sound of that. At all. "Like . . . intimately?"

"Oh, yeah. First we, uh, we watched TV."

She started to relax a little.

"And then we played with Shango," he went on. "Then we talked about her ex-boyfriend who, coincidentally, cheated on her."

"And that's it?" It would be a comfort if it was; that was harmless enough.

"Well, then there was the sex."

"What?" she shrieked, unable to keep her voice down.

He laughed. "I'm kidding."

"Oh." _Thank God,_ she thought, sighing in relief. That had really freaked her out for a second there. Just the thought of his hands on some other girl . . . she hated it.

"Come on, you didn't honestly think I was gonna sleep with her, did you?" he teased.

"Well, I didn't know. You two looked pretty cozy. You were, like, full-on making out with her."

"It had to look convincing," he reasoned.

"But it's not like we're technically together," she reminded him. "You could've slept with her if you'd wanted to."

His eyes locked onto hers, and his voice sounded so smooth and sultry when he said, "I didn't want to."

She couldn't help but blush a bit. Being the _only_ girl Michael had eyes for, the _only_ object of his affections . . . it was a rush. Especially considering how drop dead gorgeous Rachel was. And how smart Sarah was.

"So we hung out," he recapped. "Then she left. End of story."

"Good." She would have appreciated a phone call to let her know that, though she supposed he liked making her squirm and be envious. "I think it put a lot of Max's suspicions to rest, too," she said, "so that's good. Now we can just go back to-"

"Having an affair?" he cut in.

She tensed, not sure why. _An affair._ It was what they were doing. It was what they'd been doing for nearly three weeks now.

"It's alright," he said, getting to his feet. He stood in front of her, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "I'll say it so you don't have to."

Not saying it didn't make it any less real. Sometimes when she thought about what they were doing, it exhilarated her. Other times, it devastated her.

He put his hand on her waist, pulling her in a bit closer, and she knew she had to put some distance between them before things escalated. "We can't do this here," she whispered, pushing his hand away.

"I know," he said, brushing her hair back from her face. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, one that left her wanting more. All kinds of kisses in all kinds of place, and all sorts of touches to go along with them.

She did manage to leave, but she didn't get far. In fact, she only made it out into her car before her whole body just . . . stopped. The keys were in her hands and her foot was on the pedal, but she couldn't seem to start the car. She just sat there, thinking about him, wondering if it would have been possible to hook up with him just now. They could've been quiet. And quick. No one would have ever known.

 _God, what's wrong with me?_ she wondered, jamming the keys in the ignition. She still didn't turn the car on, though. Something told her to stay put.

Momentarily, she thought about reaching down to touch herself, get off right here and right now. Because if she didn't, she was going to be thinking about it all the way home, and she wouldn't even be able to concentrate on her driving. As irrational as it was to be so totally and completely invested in her sex life with Michael . . . she just couldn't get enough of it. Of _him_. Her hand would be a lousy substitute.

Just as she was resigning herself to masturbation, the passenger's side door of the car swung open, and Michael hurled himself inside. His lips attacked hers ferociously, and with reckless abandon, she kissed him back. She heard him unzip his pants right away, and she knew what was going to happen. More than that, she welcomed it. Was it risky to do this right here of all places? Sure. Was it immoral? Probably. It was her son's school, after all. But they were on the far side of the building where there were no windows, and there was no one else in the parking lot. It was just the two of them, and they could make it quick.

She clamored over the gearshift and into his lap, cupping his face with both her hands as their mouths mated. Her skirt hiked up over her backside on its own accord, allowing him to rub his hard cock against the juncture between her legs. He seemed delighted to find out she wasn't wearing any underwear, because he smiled against her lips, and a low groan rose up from his throat.

Seconds later, she guided herself down onto him. It was a smooth fit, because she was already so wet. No wonder she hadn't been able to drive away. She'd been sitting out there for at least five minutes now, secretly yearning for this, hoping that he would come out and satisfy her the way only he could. It wasn't just desire at this point. It was undeniable need.

She rode him at a frantic pace, worried that they would get caught, that some teacher would walk out or some parent would drive by. No one did, but just the fact that someone _could_. . . it was pretty damn thrilling and made the sex feel even hotter.

When he reached down between their bodies to rub her clit, it sent her over the edge almost immediately. She sank down to the base of his shaft and stayed there as she came, letting the feeling wash all over her. Whether it was brief or drawn-out, rough or romantic, it always felt so fucking good with Michael. Like an itch that had just been scratched.

He pounded his hips up into her a few more times and climaxed shortly after, leaning his head back against the seat, eyes closing as though he just wanted to stay there and never move again. "I couldn't resist," he breathed out, grinning dazedly.

There was no time to recover, though. He had to get back to work, and she had to get home. Because they were in the middle of an elementary school parking lot, and they literally could've gotten arrested for what they'd just done. "Go," she said, lifting her hips so that he could slip out of her. "Get out of here." She gave him what she thought was a gentle shove, but apparently there was more force behind it than she thought, because he tumbled out of the seat onto the pavement.

"Shit," he swore, quickly zipping up his pants. He stood up then, looking around, and straightened out his shirt. It was all untucked now.

She pulled her skirt down, then reached out to grab the door handle and pull it shut. She smirked at him and locked it, just so he didn't try to come back in for an encore. Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed one. It would just have to wait until later.


	66. Chapter 66

It was a risk stopping by Tess and Kyle's place that afternoon, and Michael knew it. These days, being anywhere within a fifty-foot radius of Tess Harding was a risk for him, but he was willing to chance it. Sure, it would have been nice to see Kyle's truck in the driveway, because that would mean he'd have a little backup. But even without his best friend there, he was determined to try to set the record straight with Tess, get back on good terms. Or at least civil ones.

He still had his key to their house, so he let himself in, knowing she'd just slam the door in his face if he knocked. The moment he walked inside, he heard crying, and he was immediately concerned. "Tess?" he called, heading into the living room. There she sat on the couch, her face in her hands as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"Tess?" he said again, rushing to her side.

"Go away," she snapped, trying to scoot to the end of the couch.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine." She sniffed. "Just emotional."

He frowned. "Well, what're you emotional about?"

"That's just it, I don't even know!" she wailed. "When you're pregnant, you can go from being completely fine to completely distraught in, like, half a second. It really _pisses_ me off!"

That sudden burst of anger in her voice really freaked him the hell out. "Okay, maybe now's not the best time to talk," he decided, taking a few steps back.

"Oh, I know when we should talk, Michael," she said, glaring at him. "Never. How about that, huh? Does never work for you?"

He sighed, frustrated but unable to be as mad at her as she was at him. "No, it doesn't," he answered, slowly sitting down next to her. "You're my friend, Tess."

"No, Kyle's your friend," she corrected adamantly.

"But you're my friend, too." Hell, he'd known this girl since she was a freshman in high school, and as much as she annoyed him sometimes, she was practically family at this point. He wasn't just going to stand back and let her hate him for the rest of her life.

"I _was_ your friend," she growled. "But I'm not anymore. And I'm _not_ forgiving you."

"Even if Sarah does someday?" he asked hopefully.

"Not even then. And FYI . . . she's not forgiving you."

Maybe she wasn't, and that was understandable. But still . . . he wanted her to. Selfishly, even though he didn't deserve to be selfish, he would have loved to come out of all of this without Sarah, Tess, or anyone hating him. Except for Max. He really didn't give a shit if Max hated him.

"Kyle forgives me," he pointed out.

"That's because Kyle is hopelessly strapped to the Michael Guerin redemption train, no matter how many times it crashes."

Michael exhaled heavily, knowing she wasn't wrong to be saying all of this. How many times had he been unfaithful to a girlfriend at this point? When you started to lose count, it was pretty damn bad. But that didn't have to make him a horrible person, did it? It just made him . . . fallible.

"So that's it then, huh?" he mumbled, dissatisfied with the way this was going. "You get to make all the decisions? He doesn't even get a say?"

"Oh, no, he can decide some things," she said. "Like who his best man is. I caved in on that. But I'm not caving when it comes to my kids. That's a decision Kyle and I have to agree on, and I just don't agree."

And of course that was the issue that was eating away at him the most. He could handle it if Kyle chose a different best man. That was just a one day thing. But being a godparent to his friends' kids, being the one who stood up their at their baptism and promised to be there for them no matter what . . . that was something he'd miss out on for a lifetime if he couldn't get her to change her mind and try to see the good in him again.

"You know I'd love those kids," he told her. "I'd be a good godfather."

"But you're not trustworthy," she told him icily. "You're not respectable. And let's not forget, when it came time to be an _actual_ father to Dylan . . . you pretty much sucked at it when it mattered the most."

He tensed, lowering his head. It always came back to that night, didn't it? Somehow Max seemed to have escaped the shame of his actions, his mistakes, but Michael's still surrounded him. Constantly. He never stopped feeling the regret of it, the horror.

"Just give me another chance," he begged. "Please."

"I can't keep giving chances to the guy who keeps cheating on my best friends." She shrugged unsympathetically. "Besides, I've got two older brothers who would be perfect for the job."

"Older brothers you never even see," he pointed out. One had joined the military, from what he recalled, and the other had gone to live in another country. "Come on, Tess. Obviously this is important to me."

"Oh, I know it's important," she said. "I just don't care."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding sadly in resignation. Tess wasn't changing her mind. Not yet anyway. She had a couple months left to do so, but if she didn't, or if Kyle couldn't convince her . . . then he wouldn't get to be Uncle Michael. Not to their kids anyway. And in a way, that would hurt just as much as breaking Sarah's heart had.

"I hope you change your mind," he said, getting up from the couch. He sulked back out the front door, and as he shut it, he heard her start to cry again.

...

It was a remarkable thing when the creative juices were flowing. For Isabel, when inspiration struck, she didn't want to do anything else but write. Eating, drinking, sleeping . . . it was all secondary. The story was what mattered.

When she returned home from class, it was with the full intention of heading straight upstairs to her bedroom, sitting down with her laptop, and penning another chapter, one she would give Alex to look over once he'd read what she'd already given him. But when Jesse came out of Courtney and Eric's room with a camera in his hand, she had to stop.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." He frowned, concentrating on the camera. She wasn't a technical expert by any means, but she could tell by the way he was fiddling around with it that something wasn't working right. "Where were you?" he asked distractedly.

"Just out," she replied, "clearing my head."

"Class?" he assumed.

"I'm on a spring break." Did he seriously not remember that?

"Oh." He shrugged, then held up his camera, aiming it at her, playing around with the zoom in/zoom out.

 _Of course you don't remember,_ she thought, pouting. Lately, it seemed like her boyfriend cared more about his business than he did about her. It was frustrating, but not entirely unexpected.

"You should get back to filming," she suggested, hoping that she could just do her own thing today.

"Yeah," he agreed, lowering his camera. "It's gonna be a wild one."

As if on cue, there arose a plethora of loud laughter from the bedroom. Male laughter. As in many males, definitely not just Eric.

"Actors," Jesse explained.

Is that what he was calling them now? Why not just call a spade a spade? They were horny guys who were more than willing to have sex on camera. That was it. "How many?" she asked, afraid of how staggeringly high the number would be.

"Five," he replied.

Her eyes widened. " _Five_?" Just thinking about it was . . . painful, and she wasn't even the one getting gangbanged. "Courtney's gonna have sex with five guys?"

"Well, six, if you count Eric." Jesse chuckled lightly.

On some guttural level, Isabel felt opposed to it. In a _major_ way. In the kind of way where she almost wanted to just go in there, grab Courtney, and drag her out of the room before she sunk to a whole new level of degrading herself.

"Don't worry about her," Jesse said, almost as if he were reading her mind. "You know Courtney. She loves this stuff." He bent forward, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then turned and headed back in the bedroom. When he opened the door, Isabel got a glimpse of the so-called 'actors' inside. One was significantly overweight, and another was super hairy. Slobs, by the looks of it. Total losers. But it didn't really matter, though, did it? No one was subscribing to Courtney's site to see _them_.

 _She loves it,_ Isabel reminded herself as inspiration for another chapter of her book started to strike. _Or at least she acts like she does._ Could anybody ever _truly_ love what they did, though? The longer she was involved in it, the more she was convinced the answer was no.

...

"So then I said he's not trustworthy," Tess recounted as she zipped around the house, putting out all the springtime knick-knacks and decorations.

"Even though I trust him with my life," Kyle mumbled.

"And then I said he's not respectable, which, at this point, is pretty much a well-known fact, so don't even try to argue it."

He rolled his eyes, following her into the kitchen. "And then?"

"And then . . ." She paused for a long time as she swapped out the Valentine's Day towels on the oven handle with flowery ones. "I brought up Dylan."

"What about him?"

"Oh, I just reminded Michael how miserably he failed when it came to being a father to him."

"Oh my god, Tess," Kyle groaned, rubbing his forehead. "That wasn't necessary."

She shrugged flippantly. "It got him to leave."

"Yeah, 'cause it was a low blow. I was there that night when Max took Dylan. It was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my entire life." Even now, it practically made his skin crawl to see Max, especially to see him with Dylan. In his mind, he just always went back to that night, to helplessly watching as Max drove down the street with a hysterical little boy in the back of his car. He could only imagine how horrible Michael felt whenever anyone brought it up. It had to be a nightmare, even to this day. "You shouldn't have said anything about that," he told Tess.

"Well, he shouldn't have cheated on Sarah," she shot back.

"I know. He knows. We all know that," Kyle acknowledged. "But that doesn't mean we should just turn our backs on him."

"Why not?" she challenged, folding her arms over her chest stubbornly.

"Because we— _I_ can't," he declared adamantly. "I've known him my whole life. He's more of a brother to me than a friend. And I still believe in him."

Tess snorted. "Maybe you shouldn't."

"No, maybe you _should_." Even though he wasn't looking to get into some huge argument about this, Kyle refused to not stick up for his best friend. And he desperately wanted his own girlfriend to understand that. "Do you know how much this guy's sacrificed for me? He could be playing football at Alabama right now. He could have a whole life for himself out there, but he gave that all up for me. To stick with me, to be there for me when I needed him the most."

Tess's expression softened momentarily, but only slightly. There was still a lot of anger in her eyes.

Kyle sighed, shaking his head. Those first few days following his injury were mostly a blur. He'd been at such an emotional low that most things had pretty much blended together. But he distinctly remembered sitting in the hospital with Michael on his third night, talking to him after everyone else had gone to sleep. And even though he'd told him to stay in Bama, keep playing, Michael had told him right then and there that he was returning to New Mexico with him. No decision to be made. "He sacrificed his own talent just 'cause I don't have mine anymore," Kyle said. "And he never gave up on me, so I can't give up on him."

"He's not the only one who's sacrificed, though, Kyle," Tess pointed out, her eyes welling up suddenly with tears. "I didn't even have a senior year of high school because of you. I haven't gone to college, and with the babies coming, I probably never will. I'll be way too busy and too tired and-"

"You make it sound like you're on your own," he cut in.

She flapped her arms against her sides. "Well, I might be."

His mouth dropped open, and he stammered, "Are you . . . are you serious?" downright offended that she would even suggest that. "You really think I'm gonna check out on you again? All the changes I've made, all the _progress_ I've made . . . you think that's just temporary?"

"Well, I hope not!" she cried. "But honestly . . . sometimes I worry about it."

He stared at her incredulously, grunting. He knew things between them had deteriorated these past few years, and he was more than willing to own up to his many mistakes. But here he'd been thinking that they were back on the right track, that they had been for a while now. But apparently not.

"Well, no wonder you don't believe in Michael," he ground out accusingly. "You don't even believe in me." He shook his head sadly and stormed down the hall.

"No, Kyle . . ." she whined pleadingly.

He tuned her out and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.

...

Even though he could have been studying— _should_ have been studying—Michael went with Kyle to the football field. When he'd called, he'd just sounded stressed, like he needed to blow off some steam. And that was what you did when you were part of a bro-pack. You met up whenever you needed to and just hung out, just to blow off steam.

They had the whole football field to themselves, and Kyle brought a ball. So it kind of felt like old times again.

"So it was bad, huh?" Michael said, squinting against the glare of the sunlight.

"Yep, pretty bad." Kyle drew his arm back and slung the ball in Michael's direction. It was a little high, but he was able to reach over his head and grab it.

"How bad?" he asked.

Kyle shrugged. "We didn't speak for the rest of the night, barely said two words to each other this morning."

Michael looked down at the ball in his hands, feeling guilty. "Sorry," he apologized, tossing it back to him.

Kyle caught it easily, muttering, "Not your fault."

"No, it kind of is, though," Michael accepted. "I mean, this whole thing with me and Maria and Sarah . . . I feel like it's pitted you and Tess against each other, and I don't want that."

"We're not against each other," Kyle denied, batting the ball back from hand to hand. "We're just not seein' eye to eye right now." He sighed. "I don't know, things just aren't as easy now as they were back in high school."

The ball flew towards Michael fast, and he caught it hard against his stomach. "Things were easy then?"

Kyle grinned. "They were for me."

Michael chuckled, tossing the ball back. He put too much force into it, though, and it went right past Kyle. He didn't dart after it, or even reach for it. He just let it land behind him on the ground.

"I gotta do somethin' with my life," he announced suddenly, his whole expression shifting into a contemplative one.

Michael frowned. Like he wasn't already? "What're you talkin' about, man? You're gonna be a dad."

"Besides that," Kyle said, looking out on the whole big football field, one that he was so familiar with even though he'd never played on it. "I need goals. I need plans. And now that football's off the table . . . well, it's hard to figure out what to do next."

"Hmm." Michael nodded. This was classic Kyle here. Kyle had always been the type of person to have goals, to have all these great things in mind he aspired to be or become. And he'd always had a well-developed plan to get there. There just had never really been any doubt that he would go somewhere in life, and that he would be someone when he got there. Michael had never doubted it, not once, not even in the aftermath of his accident. Kyle Valenti was destined to succeed no matter what.

"You could coach," Michael suggested. "And not just like the pee-wee games we coached this year. You could coach here. You know, they're always lookin' for student assistant coaches."

"Yeah," Kyle said. "I'm not a student, though."

"Well, you could do that, too." Really, he had a lot more opportunities than he did obstacles these days. With two kids on the way, it might not be easy, but it definitely wasn't unattainable.

"Yeah," Kyle said. "Yeah, I think I do wanna get a degree. And Tess . . ." He swallowed hard, nodding determinedly. "I want that for her, too. I think we could make it work."

"If anyone can . . . it's you guys." At the end of the day, they were still the golden couple, even if that golden hue wasn't as untarnished as it used to be.

"Coaching, huh?" Kyle said, grinning. "You really think I'd be good at it?"

Michael stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled closer to Kyle. "I really do." Hell, the only reason he was a good receiver was because Kyle had made him practice running the same plays over and over again. When they were little kids, that's what they'd done. While every other boy their age had been playing with trucks or G.I. Joes, they'd been playing with footballs. Constantly. And it'd paid off.

"You know what you'd be really good at?" Kyle said with a smirk. "Playing."

Michael laughed skeptically, shaking his head. "I don't know. It's been a few years. I bet I've lost a step or two."

"Bet you could get it back."

 _Could I?_ Michael wondered. He missed the game, the thrill of it, the physicality. Next year would be his last shot at playing on a team again, and he'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind. But still . . . it seemed like a tall order. "I can't play football anymore, Kyle," he said, resigned to the fact.

"No, _I_ can't play," Kyle corrected. "You can."

Michael frowned. Was it really that simple? It couldn't be. A lot had changed over the years. It wasn't that easy to get the game back, or to get anything back, for that matter.

"I think it'd be good for you," Kyle said, walking over to retrieve the football. "You got a lot goin' on, you know? You need an outlet."

"An outlet?" Michael echoed.

"Yeah. For everything you might be feelin' or dealing with. You know?"

Michael shifted his weight from side to side. Lately, he was feeling and dealing with . . . more than even Kyle realized. More than anyone realized. "I already have an outlet," he said, not willing divulge just what it was.

But of course, Kyle was curious. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

He didn't say anything, but he pictured Maria's face in his mind.

...

"Michael!" Unable _not_ to react to his tickling, Maria giggled and squirmed underneath the mass of blankets on the floor. His hands grazed her sides, and his mouth nibbled gently on her neck. "Stop it!" she squealed playfully.

"Ticklish much?" he teased, his hands moving all over her, each touch eliciting more and more laughter.

"Oh my god, seriously, stop!" she yelped.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

He relented, but even though his hand stopped the tickling, they didn't stop the touching. One second they were on her hips, then they were rubbing her arms. His entire body settled atop hers, warmer than all of the blankets combined.

"How did we even get down here?" she asked him.

"I don't know. But I like it." He wriggled his eyebrows and dipped his head down to press a sloppy kiss to the side of her neck. "Mmm, you smell so good," he told her, his voice husky with desire.

"I smell like you," she said, playing with the hair near the back of his neck.

"Exactly." He lifted his head, looking down at her with eager, energized eyes. "So are you up for more?"

"Hmm, maybe," she said, rubbing her legs against his sides. She probably had to leave in twenty minutes, but . . . hell, they could have a _lot_ of fun in twenty minutes.

"Maybe?" he echoed, kissing her quickly. His whole face took on this look of mischief when he asked, "Are you in the mood for . . . anything in particular?"

"Ooh," she said, intrigued. "Meaning?"

"Meaning . . . you know."

"Use your words, Michael," she told him.

"I don't have to use my words. You know what I'm thinkin'."

She was pretty sure she did. Michael wasn't exactly known for his subtlety in the bedroom. Besides, he made no effort to hide his favorite fetish. "Anal?" she guessed.

"Hell yeah."

"Hell no," she mimicked, shooting the idea down immediately. "That's not the kind of thing you can just spring on a girl. You gotta earn it."

"Okay, how do I earn it then?" he asked eagerly.

"Well . . ." If she was going to treat him to _that_ kind of sex again, she was sure as hell going to enjoy everything that led up to it. "You have to make me cum over and over and over again. And then maybe I'll consider it."

"For tonight?" he asked hopefully.

"For some other night. When we have more time." Twenty minutes just would not cut it. She'd had anal sex one time before, and it had been with him, of course. And he'd been so diligent and so remarkably loving in the way he'd prepared her for it that it had taken nearly an hour. If they were going to do it again, she wanted it to be just like that. At their own pace, not at all rushed.

He looked a little disappointed at first, but then, as it sunk in that she hadn't just given him an outright no, he perked back up again. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I can live with that. Besides, I'll have fun earning it." He stuck out his tongue and wriggled it.

She laughed again, touching his cheek. "You like making me cum?"

"I love making you cum."

"You're good at it." She smiled up at him, and he bent down to kiss her, not just a little, light kiss this time, but a deeply passionate one, the kind of kiss that made her _feel_ like she was about to cum right then and there.

Suddenly, he tore his mouth away from hers, sat back, and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her up. He tossed her back up onto the bed, causing the mattress to squeak loudly.

"Oh, you're not wasting any time, are you?" she said.

"Nope." He crawled up there with her in all his naked glory, eyes locked on her like he was a carnivore about to devour her.

 _Oh, god yes,_ she thought, shifting around so that her head was at the top of the bed, pillowed. She so desperately wanted to be devoured.

He sat back on his knees and grabbed her ankles, spreading her legs apart. He seemed to like what he saw. "Excited, huh?" he noted.

"I am," she said, already feeling an anticipatory wetness between her legs. "I love this."

"I'll make it good, I promise," he vowed, bending down to rain a few kisses on her stomach.

Her abdominal muscles fluttered in response. "You always do," she whispered, lifting her hips up.

Understanding her wordless communication, he grabbed one of the pillows and positioned it under her ass, elevating her hips a bit so he would have easier access. That was all that mattered to her at this point, getting his head down there so his tongue could do some good.

He was smart enough not to just dive right in. He trailed kisses down the inside of her thigh, then back up the other one. When he stopped at her center and just blew hot air against it, she gasped, bucking her hips towards him. He grinned in amusement, traced one finger down her folds, then moved all the way in and put his mouth on her, his tongue flicking out to tease her clit.

"Oh, Michael . . ." she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut as she surrendered herself to him completely. He was an expert at all things sexual, but especially this. He knew how to drive her crazy and make her feel extraordinary all at the same time. He could do things with his mouth that most people couldn't even do with their hands. It was incredible.

The talented tongue that was flicking against her gradually flattened out, increasing the pressure and the insanely arousing texture she felt down there. He started licking her like she was a damn popsicle, and the thought made her laugh.

"What's so funny?" he said.

She shuddered as his breath tickled her in a much different way than his hands had been. When she opened her eyes, he was already back to work, his mouth enveloping her down there while his tongue sought to slip in between her folds and truly taste her. It pushed in insistently, lapping up the remnants of the orgasm she'd already had earlier.

"Oh my god," she said, staring at him in amazement. It was quite a sight to see. He was so focused on giving her pleasure that it seemed like nothing else mattered. His eyes were closed in concentration, and his hands shot out to keep her legs apart, even when they just started to close a little bit.

"Wait," she said, tangling her hands in his hair. She got him to lift his head up, but just barely. He started to look confused when she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"Lay down," she told him, not all that used to giving orders.

At once, he understood where she was going with this. "Oh, yeah," he said, doing as instructed. "That's my girl." He swapped places with her, and she slithered up his body, kissing a path from his stomach to his chest, stopping momentarily to circle her tongue around his taut, masculine nipples. Then she moved up further, stopping to latch her mouth onto his. Their tongues moved together for a bit, not dueling, but rather . . . embracing. Everything tonight was better with tongue.

"Remember how you used to be embarrassed to do this?" he reminisced.

 _Used to be,_ she thought, grabbing hold of the headboard to pull herself up further. He'd taught her how to revel in this so completely that nothing about it was embarrassing anymore.

When her breasts were at his face, he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently. She closed her eyes and moaned as he released it from his mouth, then did it again. If she'd wanted to, she probably could have just stayed right there and gotten off just from him doing that. But her clit was still yearning for him, so she moved up all the way and straddled his face, moving against his mouth wantonly. He held his tongue out, allowing her to literally grind against it, and it felt so good, she almost came right away.

Holding onto the headboard, she rolled her hips forward and back rhythmically, getting lost in the sensation. Being on top of him, in complete control of him like this . . . it wasn't the norm, although he was definitely relinquishing more of the dominance these days. She suspected he liked seeing her be the one to work for it, to go after what she wanted.

Even though she knew firsthand that giving pleasure was equally as rewarding as receiving it, she couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder, just to see how he was holding up. His cock was straining hard, erect to the point where it was lying flat against his stomach. The tip of it was glistening with pre-cum, and she wanted so badly to taste it, to give him some of the same satisfaction he was giving her.

It practically killed her to do so, but she lifted her hips away from his mouth. He frowned, but only momentarily, for when he noticed her turning around, altering the position into one that was mutually beneficial, he said, "Oh, fuck yeah," and his cock quivered in anticipation.

She settled her body on top of his, her backside face him now, and scooted backward enough so that they were perfectly positioned for a good, old-fashioned sixty-nine. She lowered her pussy back down onto his mouth, and he lapped at her eagerly. His hips jerked the moment she took his cock in her hand. She stroked its entire length a few times, then swirled her tongue around the tip of it to collect the fluid gathered there. His tongue wasn't the only one that could do some good.

Barely able to focus because of the intense pleasure he was giving her, she took him into her mouth, moving her head up and down slowly. Apparently it was a little too slow, though, because his hips started to thrust upward on their own accord. They calmed down when she picked up the pace.

Groaning, he curled his arms up underneath her legs and splayed his hands against her butt cheeks, spreading them open so he could press his mouth into her even more. The more aggressive he became, the more she felt like she couldn't hold back. That familiar euphoric feeling bubbled up inside her, and she had to tear her mouth away from his cock to cry out as it ripped through her. She came gratefully, right into Michael's awaiting mouth. Just as he always did, he tried to drink down every single drop, and he actually seemed disappointed that there wasn't more.

Wanting the experience to be as rewarding for him as it had just been for her, she stroked his length a few more times, and that was all it took to get him off, too. He came all over her hand and all over his own stomach. She laughed at the mess he made.

"Shit," he swore.

It was no problem, though. She got off of him and moved so that her entire body was down at the foot of the bed, and she could look up at him and hold eye contact while she cleaned him up. She licked up all the hot, sticky cum that was decorating him, and even though it didn't taste particularly good . . . it _did_ taste good. Because it was from him. Because it was _for_ her.

"Oh, come here, baby," he said when she was done, tugging on her hair. He sat up, meeting her in the middle of the bed for a searing kiss, one where he could taste himself on her lips, and she could taste herself on his.

...

By the time Maria got home, Dylan was already in bed. He must have had a tiring day, because he never fell asleep so early. Or maybe he wasn't feeling well. She sat down on the side of his bed and held the back of her hand to his forehead, but he didn't feel too warm.

Bending down, she kissed his cheek, then got up and left the room so she wouldn't wake him up. She went down to the end of the hall, noting the light seeping out from under her bedroom door. Apparently Max was still awake. Hopefully he hadn't been worried about her.

The door creaked when she opened it, and he glanced up from the book he was reading. "Hey."

"Hey." She set her purse down kicked off her shoes. "Sorry it's so late." She really had intended to make it home half an hour ago. That just . . . hadn't happened.

"Work again, huh?" he said, setting his book aside. It was some legal thing, the kind of thing he would have read back when he was in pursuit of being a lawyer.

"Yeah. Sorry," she apologized again, sitting down on the bed. How much longer was work going to suffice as an excuse? It was probably time to start thinking up some new ones.

"Maybe you could ask your boss not to schedule you at night," he suggested, his voice quiet, as if he were trying to downplay his concerns. "I miss you."

 _Oh god,_ she thought, attempting to keep the guilt off her face. She tried to smile at him reassuringly, hoping it didn't look forced. Even though it was. He just couldn't know. He couldn't know that she didn't miss him as much as he missed her.


	67. Chapter 67

Liz opened the door to Alex's office and poked her head in. "Knock, knock," she said without actually knocking.

He glanced up at her and smiled. "Good, it's just you. I thought you were a student."

"Oh, god forbid." She took one look at his desk and wondered if he had gotten _any_ work done over spring break. It didn't look like it. "So . . . first day back," she noted. "You ready?"

"No. It went too fast."

"Hmm." For her, it hadn't gone fast enough. When college students were out of town, business was slow. Really slow. "Looks like you've already got some stories to read," she said, tilting her head to the side to get a better look at the pile of paper on his desk. "Or is that just one story?"

"One," he replied.

"Whoa, a novel." It was impressive that anyone would have time to compose one of those. "Is it any good?"

"Uh . . . yeah," he replied slowly. "Holds your interest."

For some reason, she had a feeling she knew exactly why it was holding his interest so much. "Who wrote it?" she inquired. When he didn't answer, she gave him a look. "Alex?"

"What? She asked me to read it," he said. "It's no big deal."

She shut the door, sighing frustratedly. "I just don't wanna see you get caught up in a bad relationship with Isabel right after getting out of a bad one with Leanna."

"There's no relationship," he denied.

"Apparently there is." Isabel wasn't even a student in his class anymore. There had to be a reason she picked him over her friends and even her boyfriend to read what she'd written.

"It's just a friendship," he assured her. "You know, like you and Max."

She rolled her eyes. Of course he would try to make that comparison, but the situations were nothing alike. "Max and I are parents, though," she pointed out. "We have a reason to be close."

"Isabel and I . . . aren't close."

"Close enough for you to read her novel." She wasn't trying to be annoying or patronizing; she just wanted to look out for him. Even if he hadn't confessed to still having feelings for Isabel, she would have known it. "Look, I'm not trying to be difficult, I swear," she promised. "I just . . . I want you to be careful. Okay?" If he and Isabel reconnected too much, then that was a slippery slope for him to be on.

"I'm always careful," he muttered as his eyes drifted back down to the pages in front of him. It was like he couldn't look away.

She watched him warily, fearing that Isabel was going to suck him back in, lure him back into the role of being her knight in shining armor. And at this point, as cruel as it sounded, Liz just wasn't sure she deserved one.

...

Spring break was always a blessing and a curse. A blessing for obvious reasons, of course, but a curse because it was just so hard to come back from it. It wasn't like summer was right around the corner. They still had a few weeks of the semester left, over a month if you counted finals week. And that felt endless.

The one nice thing about being back was that it was more convenient to see Maria. Music Appreciation was an afterthought for Michael at this point. Maria was the only thing he was appreciating.

"So I'm thinkin' about playin' football again," he revealed to her as they sat side by side in the back of the room, waiting for the professor to show up and start.

"Oh, yeah?" she said as she unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it into her mouth. "Next year?"

"Yeah." The idea had been subconsciously floating around his head for a while now, but hearing Kyle suggest it made it seem more . . . attainable. "You think I should?"

"Yeah, if you want to," she said. "I mean, you're really talented."

He snorted. "I can catch a ball pretty well. Don't know if that's a talent."

"No, it is," she insisted. "I've seen you play."

"You've seen me play with Kyle." What if it was different without him? More so than the fact that it wouldn't be as fun . . . what if he just wasn't as good? Obviously they were a dynamic duo on the field, always had been. Receivers and their quarterbacks had to gel, and there was always the possibility that he wouldn't gel with whoever else was handling the ball.

"Michael . . . Kyle can't play anymore," she said softly. "That's just the hard truth."

"I know." And it was good that his friend seemed to have accepted that. Now if only he could. "I don't know, I'm not sure if I wanna play without him. I don't know if it'd be the same."

"Maybe not," she conceded, "but it could still be fun." She shrugged. "You've got time to think about it."

"Yeah, I guess." Time would fly, though. As much as it felt like it would drag on right now, before he knew it, the end of the semester would be upon him, and he'd _really_ have to give it some thought. Football wasn't just a fall thing anymore. The preparation took place in the summer.

He smiled at her, relieved to be able to have this conversation. Lately, everything between them had been _so_ sexual—not that he was complaining. But it was nice to know that they could still just talk, too, that that part of their relationship wasn't gone.

She bent forward to grab a pen out of her purse, and when she did, the back of her shirt rose up enough to expose the _MG_ on her lower back. Seeing it . . . well, it really turned him on; and suddenly, he wasn't in the mood to talk anymore.

"I love that you still have your tattoo," he said, grinning flirtatiously.

She sat back, pulling her shirt down. "I wish you still had yours."

"Yeah, me, too," he mumbled, regretting his decision to get it removed. He'd just been so damn pissed back then, and so determined to move on with his life. Yeah, right. Like that had ever been possible. "I could get a new one," he contemplated.

"Uh, no, you can't."

"Why not?" Tattoos weren't that expensive, and he had the money.

"What would Max think when he sees the brand new _MD_ on your arm?" she pointed out.

"I don't care what Max thinks."

"Well, I do."

He groaned. "Okay, fine, I could get it somewhere else then, somewhere he'd never see it. Like on my ass. Or my balls."

She made a face. "Ew."

"What? _M_ on one ball, _D_ on the other. You don't think that's romantic?" he joked.

"No, it's gross."

"Okay, fine. I won't get your initials tattooed on my body again," he sighed, relenting. "I don't need to. They're already there; you just can't seem 'em." He pointed to his chest, grinning dopily. "They're on my heart."

Her eyes locked onto his, and she got this dreamy smile on her face, like she was melting.

" _That_ was good," he boasted. "That was romantic. Holy crap." How the hell had he come up with that one? He gave himself a mental pat on the back.

"Yeah, that was pretty good," she admitted, blushing.

 _Pretty good?_ he thought. _Understatement._ That had been, like, a Kyle thing to say.

Unable to resist, he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the lips. Just a quick one, just because he wanted to. He expected her to keep smiling, keep blushing, maybe even laugh a little. But her whole body tensed up, and she got really serious immediately afterward.

"You can't do that," she told him.

"Why not?" He frowned. "Nobody saw." This wasn't like high school. Nothing he said or did would start trending on Twitter anytime soon.

"You can't," she repeated, resolution in her voice.

He leaned back in his seat, sighing heavily. His eyes remained on her, even after their professor walked in and started talking right away. Little things like this . . . they stung. It was just another reminder that, no matter how passionately in love they were, they still had to keep their relationship a secret from everybody else. And he still didn't want to.

...

"122 over 79," the nurse told Tess, removing the blood pressure band from her arm. "That's very good."

"Hmm." Tess smiled, slightly surprised by those numbers. With the amount of stress she'd been feeling lately, she'd assumed it would be a lot higher.

"The doctor will be in soon," the nurse said as she left the room.

"Thanks." Tess lay back on the table, trying to get comfortable. Nothing was comfortable at this point. If it wasn't her back hurting, it was her bloated feet. Groaning, she sat back up and watched as Kyle roamed around the small room, looking at the various pamphlets and posters on display. He seemed to settle on the poster on the back of the door, which showed a mom and a dad holding their baby, all three of them smiling and laughing. The perfect happy family.

"Kyle?" she squeaked out, hoping he would talk to her. They hadn't said much these past few days, and she knew his feelings were hurt. It was just hard to apologize to him while still being truthful about everything she'd felt these past few months.

"They look really happy," he commented, pointing to the poster. "Don't you think?"

"Yeah." They probably weren't even a real family, but it didn't matter. The point still came across. Babies were a blessing, and they were supposed to bring your life all sorts of joy.

She looked down at and touched her rounded stomach. Even though she had crossed the halfway point of her pregnancy already, she was still getting used to her stomach being so big. It all still seemed kind of surreal.

"So are we gonna find out today?" he asked, turning around.

"Sure," she said quietly. "If you want to."

"Well, I want to if you want to."

She nodded, thinking that it would be nice to know. After all, there was so much uncertainty in their lives—neither one of them knew what the future held for them in terms of education or careers—so it would be nice to be able to at least know one thing for sure.

"What do you predict?" he asked. "Boys? Girls?"

She shrugged. "Maybe one of each." She'd always envisioned having both a son and a daughter with Kyle. Why not have both at the same time?

"Maybe," he said, his eyes drifting down to her belly. He looked lost in thought for a moment, and she wished so badly that she could read his mind. Or read anything about him. But Kyle wasn't such an open book anymore. He tended to guard his truest emotions, which was one of the things she worried about.

"Kyle . . ." She reached her arm out, silently pleading with him to come closer. And he got the point. He put his hand in hers and stepped right up in front of her, close enough that she could have kissed him if she'd wanted to.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, feeling the sharp pang of guilt when she remembered how upset he'd been the other day. "I'm sorry that I ever made you feel like I don't believe in you, because I do."

He shook his head as if to deny being hurt. "No, it's okay," he said. "I haven't really earned it, so . . ."

"No, you have, though," she insisted. "These past few months . . . you've been amazing." She smiled adoringly at all the progress he'd made. "You've been trying so hard to get better, and you _are_ better, and I'm just—I'm really grateful for that."

He swallowed hard. "Thanks."

"It's just . . ." She wanted to be honest with him about her concerns, though, because they weren't completely gone yet. And the sad truth was, maybe they never would be. "Sometimes I worry," she admitted. "I worry what might happen if you ever . . . go back."

"Go back?" he echoed as if he didn't understand.

"Yeah, to that dark place you used to be in. I mean, it's not that I don't believe in you, okay? It's just that I've gotten so used to being hopeless that sometimes it's hard to be hope _ful_."

Instead of reacting right away, he took a moment, thought about it, and nodded as he processed it. "I understand," he said. "But I promise, it's not a temporary thing. That dark place was the worst place I've ever been to in my life. I'm never goin' back there."

She breathed a sigh of relief, just because it felt good to hear him say it out loud. And not just to say it, but to say it with conviction. Like he really believed in himself. That made it so much easier to be hopeful and believe in him. "I love you," she whispered, afraid she hadn't said it enough lately. No matter how bad it had gotten, that was one thing that hadn't changed.

"I love you, too," he said, touching her cheek. And then he kissed her. And it was the sweetest kiss Tess remembered in a long, long time. In fact, it sort of felt like their first one all over again.

She felt one—or possibly both—of the babies kick in her stomach, and she had to figure that was a good sign.

...

Michael was completely caught off guard when he opened the door and saw Kyle standing on the other side. He'd been expecting Maria.

"Hey, man," he said. "What're you—what're you doin' here?" He cast a quick glance at the clock on the microwave, worrying. What if Maria showed up when Kyle was over here? His mind already scrambled to come up with a plausible excuse.

"I gotta show you somethin'," Kyle said, giddily making his way inside. "Look." He whipped out two small photos, both of the same thing: two twin babies in the womb. They looked almost too detailed to be real.

"Holy shit," Michael swore, "is that a real sonogram?"

"Yeah, they make 'em all 3D now," Kyle said. "Those are my kids. Can you believe that?"

"Wow." Michael took a closer look at the image, amazed. They sort of looked like they were made out of clay at this point, but all the features were there, easy to pinpoint. _All_ the features. "Is that a penis?" he asked, pointing to what definitely _looked_ like a penis.

"That's a penis," Kyle confirmed.

Michael grinned. "So you're havin' a son, huh?"

"Yep." Kyle beamed proudly. "And a daughter."

"Really?" The second baby was sort of hidden behind the first one, so he didn't have a clear view. But of course Kyle and Tess would have one of each. One could play football someday, and the other could be a cheerleader. "Congrats. That's perfect for you guys, man."

"Yeah, that's what we said." Kyle stared at the photo in astonishment. He'd probably go home and stare some more. It had to be a crazy feeling to be looking at something that was part of you and part of the girl you loved.

Not that he'd know or anything.

"The girl looks like she's scratchin' her head," Michael remarked.

"Yeah, I know, right? And look, it's like he's tryin' to suck his thumb."

"Yeah." They looked so developed already, like they could be born any day, even though they still had a few months to go. Before any of them knew it, they'd be more than just images. They'd really be there, just like Joe was. And Michael still didn't know if he'd be Uncle Michael, or just that guy their mom hated.

"Anyway, one of those is your copy," Kyle told him.

"Thanks." He'd put it on his fridge. It was pretty bare there now that there were no longer pictures of him and Sarah hung up with magnets. "Does Tess know you're givin' me one?"

"Uh, yeah. She's fine with it."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Doesn't mean she's fine with you, but . . . hey, she and I had a good conversation today, and I think we're back on good terms, so I'll take what I can get."

"Yeah, that's the most important thing," Michael agreed, giving Kyle back the second ultrasound image. "Well, thanks. Thanks for keepin' me in the loop."

"Yeah, sure thing." Kyle walked further into the apartment and said, "Mind if I use your bathroom? I gotta piss."

"Go for it," Michael told him, sensing an opportunity. Once the door was shut, he ran over to the couch, picked up his phone, and started to text Maria, telling her not to show up there. But before he could send the message, there was another knock on the door. And there wasn't a doubt in his mind that it was her this time.

 _Crap,_ he thought, rushing to it. She couldn't be there when Kyle got out of the bathroom.

"Hey," she said, smiling when he opened the door. She tried to come inside and throw her arms around him, but he held her back.

"No, you can't," he said. "Kyle's here."

"Oh." She frowned, obviously disappointed.

"Yeah, he might be here for a while," he told her.

"Oh, well . . . that's okay," she said. "In fact, it's probably a good thing. I've had way too many late nights already this week."

"Sorry," he apologized. He wasn't sorry for keeping her out so late, just that he wasn't going to be able to keep her out late again tonight.

"No, it's okay," she reiterated. "I'll just go."

He heard the toilet flush, and she must have heard it, too, because she spun around to take off.

"Wait," he said, grabbing her arm, pulling her back. He kissed her quickly, wishing he could kiss her more, then let go of her and watched her leave.

Kyle came out of the bathroom just as he was shutting the door. "Somebody here?" he asked.

"Nope," Michael lied, putting his hands in his pockets. "Nobody." He didn't like being dishonest with his best friend of all people, but until Maria allowed it, he couldn't tell anybody the truth. When he could, though, Kyle would be the first to know. And even though he'd be disappointed, hopefully he'd still be his best friend.

...

Maria spit her toothpaste into the sink and washed it down as Max came into the bathroom. She smiled at him as she rinsed off her toothbrush, but he didn't even look at her. In fact, he seemed sort of . . . out of it.

"You okay?" she asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

"I don't know," he replied dazedly, brows furrowed.

She set her toothbrush back in the holder, confused. "What's wrong?"

He reached back and shut the bathroom door. "I was just tucking Dylan in for the night," he explained, "and we were talkin' about things we could do this summer. I mentioned taking him to the pool, gettin' him swimming lessons."

Maria tensed, already sensing she knew where this was going.

Max frowned. "He just freaked out."

 _Oh god,_ she thought as a shiver darted up her spine. This wasn't good. "Is he okay now?" she asked.

"Yeah," Max replied. "But he just started saying, 'No, no, no,' and . . ." He winced, obviously pained by all of this. "He was shaking."

Maria felt like shaking, but she turned her body towards him and tried to keep her voice steady and calm. "Do you think he's remembering?" she questioned. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it was definitely possible.

"No," Max answered quickly. "Not consciously, anyway. But maybe deep down, some part of him still _does_ remember that night. And that's why he reacted the way he did." Blinking back tears, he mumbled dejectedly, "I mean, he's a kid. Kids are supposed to like the pool."

"Unless they almost drowned in a river." She let out a shuddering sigh, hoping and praying that Max wasn't right. She didn't want Dylan to remember that night, ever. And she knew Max wanted it even less than she did.

"What if it just comes back to him someday?" Max worried out loud. "What if he just remembers? What if he looks at me and sees the scary guy who kidnapped him and crashed that car? I worry about that all the time."

Reaching out, Maria put her hand on his shoulder, reassuring him, "We'll cross that bridge when we-" It quickly dawned on her, though, that that phrase perhaps _wasn't_ the most reassuring given where Dylan's near-death experience had taken place. "Sorry, wrong choice of words," she backtracked, trying to think of a different way to put it. "We'll deal with it when we have to. _If_ we have to."

"Oh, we'll have to," Max said surely. "If he doesn't remember on his own, I just know somebody will say something someday. Maybe Isabel. Maybe Michael."

Maria tensed upon merely hearing Michael's name.

"Whether it's on purpose or on accident, somebody will say something," Max said, a tone of resignation coating his voice. "They'll tell him what happened, what I did." He swallowed hard, looking down at his feet, and muttered, "Maybe he should just hear it from me."

Maria stood up straighter, immediately on alert. "What do you mean?" she asked. "You wanna tell him?" That sounded like an incredibly bad knee-jerk type of reaction to this whole thing.

"I should be honest with him, own up to what I did."

"Max, he doesn't even have the vocabulary for what you did," she argued. "I mean, how would you explain to him that you were high? How would you tell him about it without freaking him out and confusing him even more? Just face it: He's too young to understand."

"But it'd be better if he heard it from me," Max insisted. "Wouldn't it?"

"Right now . . ." She shook her head sadly, wishing this whole sordid moment in history didn't even exist from them. Life would have been so much easier if he'd just been a good guy right from the start. "Right now, I think it'd be best if he doesn't hear it at all," she told him honestly. "If the time comes someday, then we can talk to him about it, but for now, his mind's still letting him forget."

Max thought about it for a moment and sighed solemnly. "They do say ignorance is bliss."

"Right, so let's let him stay blissfully ignorant for a little while longer."

A contemplative expression came over Max's face, but eventually, he relented and nodded. "Okay. Yeah. You're right. I won't say anything."

"I think it's for the best," she reaffirmed. "It'd just be too much for him."

"Yeah," Max agreed. "Maybe sometimes it's better to keep someone in the dark than to tell 'em the truth."

It was as if her stomach started to twist itself up when he said that. Because he had no idea what he was saying, no idea that she was keep plenty of secrets of her own . . . from him. Things that would devastate him if he knew. Things that would tear their fragile little family apart.

...

These days, it was a rarity for Maria to have time to just lie in bed with Michael, snuggle up next to him and enjoy the feel of his warm body against hers. Physically, their attraction was just at such a high level right now. But he'd made it clear that he wanted these moments, too, the ones in between. And by skipping class, they had plenty of time to cuddle. And even talk.

She told him about what had happened last night when Max made the pool suggestion to Dylan, and even though he could have been a smart-ass about it and made all sorts of little comments here and there, he actually listened pretty well.

"It's got me all worried now," she said, tracing feather-light designs on his chest. "What if he _does_ remember someday?"

"Oh, he will," Michael said certainly. "But it won't matter then. You won't be with Max anymore. You'll just be with me." With the arm he had around her, he gave her side a gentle squeeze.

"It _will_ matter, though," she insisted. "Max is his dad. He's not just gonna forget that."

"He's also not gonna forget that his 'dad' abducted him," Michael pointed out.

"But he _has_ forgotten." She laid her hand flat on his abdomen, appreciating the firmness of his muscles and the smoothness of his skin.

"For now," Michael said. "But trust me, the horrible things your father does . . ." His stomach muscles fluttered as he took in a shaky breath. "That sticks with you."

Closing her eyes, she nuzzled her face against his side, inhaling his scent. "Has it stuck with you?" she mumbled.

"More than I probably care to admit."

She tilted her head back so she could look up at his face. He was frowning, as if he were remembering something.

Taking her hand in his, he moved it up from his stomach to right below his breastplate, moving her fingers along an inch of skin that had just the slightest different texture from the surrounding areas. "You ever wonder what this scar's from?" he asked.

She'd seen it plenty of times, just the faintest of lines that was a little darker than the rest of his chest. But she'd never asked him about it. "Sometimes," she admitted.

He looked down at her and revealed, "My dad."

She gazed up at him with concern, envisioning the worst.

"It wasn't like he beat me or anything," he quickly assured her, "but . . ." Trailing off, he swallowed hard and started in. "When I was eight years old, I got detention for the first time. 'cause I pulled this girl's hair." He rolled his eyes.

"Always a girl," she teased.

"Yeah, always a girl," he muttered. "Anyway, they call my dad to come pick me up after school, and of course he acts all nice and calm around my principal and my teacher. But the minute we get in the car, he just starts yellin' at me, cursin' me out. And when we get home, he pulls on _my_ hair, tells me I'm a little bastard, and throws me across the room."

Tears stung her eyes at the thought of it. The father-son relationship she'd observed between Andy and Michael was more evenly-matched, because physically, Andy hadn't had power over his son then. But he had once, and . . . that had to have been terrifying.

"And I end up breaking this glass lamp," Michael went on. "A shard of it ends up cuttin' me right there." Holding her fingers in his, he traced them along the scar again. "So my dad makes me clean up the mess, and then he puts some bandages over it and tells me to lie to my mom when she gets home. Say it was my fault, tell her I was the one who broke it and cut myself. So I did. She never knew how I really got that scar. And my dad and I never talked about it again."

She sighed, her heart going out to him. "Michael . . ." Maybe that was the moment where the hatred between them had started. Or maybe it had existed long before that. It was hard to say, but it was sad either way. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugged as best he could while lying down. "It happens."

"But it shouldn't happen. Not to you, not to anyone." As a parent herself, it was hard for her to even fathom how Michael's dad could be such a world class jackass to his own son.

"Yeah, well, at least I know what kind of dad I _won't_ be," Michael said. "He gave me a good example not to follow."

She gazed up at him appreciatively. If there was a bright side, that was definitely it.

"I'm gonna be a good dad," he declared confidently, a slow smile creeping to his lips.

"Yeah, you are," she agreed, remembering what it had been like to see him with Dylan. Watching the two of them play football in the back yard, or walk around the house wearing their matching _Guerin_ jerseys.

"You're the one, Maria," he blurted suddenly, and for a second, she had no idea what he was talking about.

"What?" How had they gone from talking about him to talking about her.

There was this determined, delighted gleam in his eyes as he looked down at her and stated with complete certainty, "You're the one I'm gonna have kids with."

She felt like she couldn't breathe when he said that, like all the air just got locked in her chest. He was always thinking that far ahead, with her at least. His devotion towards her and towards their future was . . . absolute. Unquestionable. And that was as heartwarming as it was overwhelming.


	68. Chapter 68

Max double-checked the grocery list Maria had written out for him as he made his way to the check-out counters. This wasn't one of his usual errands—he usually handled things like trips to the hardware store or the auto garage—but Maria seemed to have less time on her hands lately, and he volunteered to help her out, stop by the store and pick up all their food items for her. Not that there were many. She'd done a good job of stocking up.

He wheeled his cart into what seemed to be the shortest line, and there buying a twelve-pack and a bag of popcorn was none other than Maria's boss. Max recognized him right away.

"Hey, Brody," he said, waving. "Max. Maria's boyfriend. We met at the housing party."

"Oh, I remember," Brody said as he held up five fingers for the clerk. "How are you?"

"Doin' alright." Max chuckled as the clerk handed Brody five scratch-off lottery tickets, each of which was probably a losing one.

"Gotta play to win," Brody said, pocketing the cards.

"That's right," Max agreed, thinking he might splurge and buy himself a couple. Why not? He used to be a pretty lucky guy. Maybe he'd get the big winner.

"So did you watch the Spurs game the other night?" Brody asked while the clerk scanned and sacked his items for him.

"No, I had to take care of some stuff with . . . my son," Max said, trying to push that night out of his mind.

"It was good," Brody said. "High-scoring."

"Those are always the best." He would have loved to have been able to just sit and watch that game, preferably to watch it with Dylan, but his son's interest in basketball was almost non-existent, and after his meltdown about potentially taking swimming lessons . . . the game just hadn't seemed that important anymore.

"Hey, I'm glad I ran into you," Max said, feeling like there was something they needed to discuss, something beyond basketball. "I actually needed to ask you something."

"Go right ahead," Brody urged as he handed his debit card over to the clerk.

"Well, it's . . . it's Maria's work schedule," Max started in. "She's probably too polite to say anything herself, but it just seems to me that she's workin' a lot lately. Like more than she used to. And I know she likes the job, so she probably doesn't mind, but . . . I don't know, I just feel like I barely ever see her." He wasn't trying to whine or complain, but he had to say something. Because it wasn't just him that was missing her; it was Dylan, too.

"That's odd," Brody said, wrinkling his face as he punched in his PIN number. "I don't think I've increased her hours."

"I think it's just 'cause she's been workin' so many late nights," Max said. "I mean, I know someone's gotta do it, but maybe it could be someone who doesn't have a son at home to take care of." If everyone who worked at the housing department was a student, surely there were plenty of other options.

"I don't schedule Maria for nights," Brody told him. "She was perfectly clear when I hired her that she couldn't do that, so I just schedule her during the day."

Max frowned, confused. "So she hasn't been working late these past few weeks?"

"Nope," Brody said, taking his debit card back from the clerk, "not that I'm aware of."

Max's frown intensified as he struggled to understand. If Maria hadn't been working late, then what had she been doing?

...

"Ugh, I hate doing dishes," Maria groaned, handing another plate over to Max to dry off.

"We need to fix the dishwasher," he said.

"Do we have enough money for that?"

"We should," he said, thoroughly toweling off the plate before putting it back up in the cabinet with the others, "with all the hours you've been puttin' in lately."

She looked away from him and stared down at the silverware in the sink, pretending to be all focused on using the scrub brush to get it them all clean.

"Maria, I have to ask you about that," he said quietly.

"About what?" she asked, trying not to tense up.

"Work. _Your_ work," he clarified.

 _Oh, crap,_ she thought, not at all liking the sound of this. Max had seemed sort of out of it all night, not really talking to her as much as he usually did. Even Dylan had noticed it. At the dinner table, he'd asked him what was wrong, but Max had just shrugged and said it was nothing.

It definitely seemed like something now.

"What about my work?" she asked, removing her hands from the sink. She dried them off quickly, hoping they wouldn't start shaking.

"Well, see, I ran into Brody at the store today," he revealed, "and I kinda got confused."

 _Oh, god. Oh, god._ Her heart was starting to pound, but she managed a soft smile and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I asked him about your schedule-"

"You asked him about my _work_ schedule?" she cut in. "Max, why did you do that? I don't wanna get fired or anything."

"No, he's—he's not gonna fire you. I was just asking," Max assured her. "He said he's still scheduling you during the day. So . . ."

Maria's stomach clenched as her mind raced, trying to figure out a way to explain herself.

"I don't know," he mumbled, "I guess I'm just wondering what the deal is, 'cause you've had so many late nights."

She knew she couldn't very well change her story now. She said she'd been at work, so that was what she needed to stick with. "Yeah, I've pulled some double shifts," she lied.

"But you weren't scheduled."

"No. No, but . . . a lot of people have been sick lately," she went on, hoping the lie sounded as smooth as it felt. "And a lot of them have a really tough class load, so when they need someone to fill in, I figure it's the least I can do."

"So . . . you're working extra?" Max made a face.

"Yeah."

"And Brody doesn't know about it?"

"Well . . ." _Fuck._ "We have these time sheets, you know, so he probably just didn't look at mine very closely."

"But you're gettin' paid extra?" Max asked.

"Yeah, it counts as, like, overtime."

"Oh." Max nodded, seemingly accepting that as an explanation. For now, at least. "That's good then. When do you get paid?"

"Soon," she replied. "Tomorrow, I think."

"You think?"

"Tomorrow," she confirmed, even though she'd already gotten paid. She got a check every week, and it was a good time Max never saw it, because there was absolutely no overtime income added onto it. She'd have to collect a little extra cash by tomorrow, just so her story seemed more plausible.

"I guess it's nice to have the extra money," he said.

"To fix the dishwasher," she added light-heartedly.

He smiled at her, nudging the defunct machine with his knee. "You don't have to work so much, though," he assured her. "If we need more money, I can pick up my hours."

"Oh, it's no big deal," she dismissed. "I like my job." And by that, she of course meant that she liked having sex with Michael. A lot. The thought of not being able to do it so frequently was a forlorn one.

"I like it when you're here," he said quietly, as though he didn't want her to truly hear any of the insecurity in his words.

She nodded slowly, wishing she could promise him that she would be at home more often, that she wouldn't have so many late nights. But something inside just wouldn't allow her to do that, not as long as Michael liked having her around, too. As long as they could be together, even if it was just in secret . . . it was like nothing else mattered.

...

"One-twenty, thirty, forty, fifty," Michael counted as he laid a stack of bills in the palm of Maria's hand. "That's all I got."

"That helps," she said, closing her hand around the cash. "Thanks. I'll pay you back."

"You don't have to." It wasn't like he'd spend that money on anything good anyway. Just food and condoms. And he already had a stock supply of the latter.

"No, I do," she insisted, stuffing the money in her back pocket. "Otherwise I'm like a prostitute, getting paid for my services. Although . . ." She smiled wryly. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Hey . . ." He didn't like her even thinking about that, let alone joking about it.

"Sorry," she said. "Dark humor."

He sat down on his couch, pulling her down on top of his lap. "I'm not paying you for sex," he said.

"No. You're just giving me money to wave in front of my boyfriend's face so I can perpetuate my lies." She looped her arms around his neck, eyes downcast. "Either way it's bad."

"Well, here's a novel idea: You could tell him the truth," he suggested, reaching his hands behind her to cup and squeeze her ass. "I hear it sets you free."

She shook her head stubbornly. "That's not an option right now."

"Right now?" That wasn't so bad. That at least gave him hope. "When will it be an option?"

"I don't know," she groaned, pouting. "Can you just kiss me or something?"

He grinned, always willing to fulfill that request. Leaning in, he pressed his mouth to hers, letting his tongue dart out to caress hers a few times before he pulled her body closer to his and kissed his way down to her neck instead.

"Oh, I need better excuses," she moaned, rolling her hips into his. "He's getting suspicious. I've 'worked really late' really often these past few weeks. I can't keep doing that."

"Then what're you gonna do?" he mumbled, nibbling and sucking on her pulse point.

"I don't know."

"Cut back on your time with me?" He lifted his head, _really_ hoping that wasn't her solution. All this sex they'd been having wasn't making him want it any less. If anything, he just wanted more and more.

"No," she said, smiling adorably.

"No?" _Thank God,_ he thought. Nowadays, he felt like he was going crazy if he wasn't touching her.

"I can't stop," she said, her voice full of passion and longing as her groin rubbed right against his, right against the straining hardness in his pants.

 _I can't, either,_ he thought, gazing at her with intrigue. This was supposed to have just been a quick visit today, because he had psych class in about . . . two minutes. But there was no way he was going to make it there now. "Ride me," he told her, his voice husky with desire. He wanted his girl to hop on his cock and use his body for her own satisfaction. He wanted to watch her work for it, feel her sweat.

Maria definitely didn't need to be told twice. One second her hands were on his shoulders. The next, they were working feverishly to undo his jeans.

...

As Isabel trotted down the stairs, she heard Courtney call her name from the kitchen. "Isabel, come here."

For a second, she thought about just walking out that door, pretending she hadn't heard her, but she waited for one second too long, and in that second, she changed her mind. "Hey," she said, sauntering into the kitchen, not at all surprised to find Courtney sitting on the counter in nothing but Eric's t-shirt. "I actually have to leave. I'm late to meet someone."

"Who? A guy?" Courtney wriggled her tongue suggestively.

"Yes, actually." Although the only thing Alex would be doing with his tongue was talking to her.

"Does Jesse know?"

"It's not like that. He's . . . kind of like a professor," she explained.

Courtney gave her a knowing look. "Oh, so it's one of _those_ meetings."

"No, it's not like that, either." She'd learned her lesson at Princeton. No way was she getting kicked out of college again. "He's looking over my novel."

"You wrote a novel?" Courtney twisted around and reached into the cookie jar, taking out an Oreo that must have been in there for a while, because it crumbled in her hands the moment she grasped it.

"I'm still writing it, technically," Isabel said. "I really have to go."

"What's it about?" Courtney chomped away on her cookie, this amused gleam in her eyes. "Is it sexy?"

Sexy . . . really wasn't the right word for it. "It's graphic," Isabel replied vaguely.

"Well, I'd totally read it . . . if I didn't hate reading." Courtney laughed and rolled her eyes.

"I gotta go," Isabel repeated, turning.

"Hey, wait a minute."

Once again, she stopped, growing evermore frustrated. If Courtney was just bored and wanted to hang out . . . she really wasn't in the mood for it. "What?" she groaned impatiently.

Courtney brushed the crumbs off her hands and slid down off the counter. "Okay, so I overheard Jesse and Eric talking, and I thought I should just give you the heads up before they talk to you," she started in.

Oh, great, this didn't sound good. "About what?"

"Your website, Isabel. It's not making money. You're losing advertisers _and_ subscribers. You gotta do something unexpected, something edgy."

"What, like a gangbang?" Isabel grunted, repulsed by the thought. No way. There were just some lines she wouldn't cross.

Courtney shrugged as if it were no big deal. "It's really not so bad," she said, "if all the guys are nice."

And the porn industry was so full of nice, wholesome guys, wasn't it? "Were they all nice with you?" Isabel asked challengingly.

Her friend didn't answer, and the silence said it all.

"I don't care about my website, Courtney," Isabel declared, very much over it right now. "I just . . . don't care." She flapped her arms against her sides, spun on her heel, and walked out the front door. So what if she was losing subscribers, losing advertisers, losing money in general? In the long run, it actually felt like she was winning something in return.

...

Maria was only stopping by the Student Union for a cup of coffee when she saw her: Sarah. She was sitting outside by the fountain, her feet in the water, her head in a book. She had sunglasses on, but Maria could tell it was her. She was so absorbed in whatever she was reading that she didn't glance up, didn't seem to realize anyone was watching her.

Maria stopped at the rotating doors in front of the Union, debating whether or not she should approach her. It wouldn't be so easy to strike up a conversation anymore, not that it had _ever_ come naturally to her or anything. What was she supposed to do, apologize for sleeping with Michael and breaking up their engagement? Thank her for keeping their secret from Max? Either one seemed bound to get a repulsed reaction.

Despite all her second-guessing, it felt like the right thing to do to at least say _something_ , so Maria took a step forward. Before she could get anywhere, though, a warm hand gripped her arm and pulled her back.

"I wouldn't," Michael said.

She glanced down at his hand on her arm, immediately wishing it was someplace else. "I just thought I could go talk to her," she said weakly, her resolve to do so quickly fading.

"It's not gonna make her feel any better," he told her, gently tugging on her arm. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" she asked, finding it hard to think about Sarah when he was standing so close to her.

He grinned and replied, "Someplace where I can make _you_ feel better."

And there it was again, that breathless feeling that he always seemed to know how to produce in her. She took one more glance back at Sarah before giving in to Michael's simple seduction.

She followed him down to the bookstore, which sold a lot more than books these days. It was full of Aggie memorabilia, from posters and other decorations to clothing. She'd purchased plenty of shirts there at the start of the school year, though there had been no need to slip into the dressing rooms to try any of them on. But that was where they were heading now. She was sure of it.

Quiet as mice, they slipped inside. Michael hastily shut the door and slid the lock into place. The door went all the way down to the floor, so no one would know they were in there together. As long as they managed to keep quiet.

 _Easier said than done,_ she thought, gasping as he pushed her back against the wall. She hadn't planned to meet him here, hadn't planned to have sex with him right now, but the pure spontaneity of it all made it even more exciting.

His mouth occupied hers expertly while his hands dove in between them to tug her black leggings down over her hips. Maybe she'd had a guttural feeling that she'd run into him, because she hadn't worn any underwear today. She kicked off her sandals and helped push the garment down further, so that it was around her knees. She tried to spread her legs, but it was too constricting until, with a low growl, he bent down and dragged her leggings all the way down to her ankles. She stepped out with one foot and lifted that leg up to wrap around his waist. Grinning mischievously, though, he sunk down to his knees, apparently with other ideas in mind.

"Oh my god," she whispered in a rush when his mouth came into contact with her pussy. No tender kisses, nips, or nuzzles. It was a full blown oral assault right from the start, and she was more than willing to give into it.

He lifted her left leg up to drape over his shoulder, and it gave her the perfect angle to roll her hips forward and back, grinding herself against his face. His tongue tickled and tantalized, just like it was supposed to, and she swore she'd be cumming in no time. Maybe that was the point.

"Oh, Michael," she moaned as her fist slammed back against the wall.

He stopped his ministrations momentarily and peered up at her with a playfully sexy gleam in his eyes. "Shh," he teased.

Not wanting him to stop, she grabbed a clump of his hair and pushed his face forward again, right between her legs. He gave her a few more licks, but that was it before he stood up, his hands already pushing aside his own belt buckle. His pants were down to his knees in mere seconds, and then his hands were underneath her ass, lifting her up so that she was in the perfect position for him to shove his dick into her.

She couldn't help but cry out, because he started to go hard right from the start. At first he tried to just hold her up rather than using the wall for any additional support, probably in an effort to reduce the noise they were making. But that idea quickly fell by the wayside, and he slammed her back against it so he could really pound her. Her legs wrapped around his waist tightly while her hands scrunched up his shirt and held on for dear life. Somehow, she managed to get herself quiet, but it didn't matter much, because every time his hips pressed forward, her ass slammed back into the wall, making an unmistakable, rhythmic sound. If anyone walked by, surely it would be no secret what they were doing. And it was _supposed_ to be a secret.

Right now, it felt too good to care.

"I want you to cum," he whispered in her ear, all of his words blending together. He moved both his hands beneath her knees so he could get a good grip on her legs. He moved them both out to the sides so that she was spread open even more to him and he could fuck her harder.

"Oh god, please," she begged, looking down between them to try to watch. It wasn't very often that she got to see it happening, got to watch him sliding in and out of her. And she couldn't even see it very well now, but she could see the next best thing.

Turning her head to the side, she watched their reflections in the full-length dressing room mirror. It was a complete turn-on seeing herself get fucked. They looked primal together, animalistic, like they weren't just doing this because they wanted to anymore, but because they _had_ to. Because they'd go crazy if they didn't.

He gave a few more deep, hard thrusts that rattled her to the core, and the physical feelings combined with the reflective peepshow sent her over the edge. She had to bite back a scream as she came, clenching her eyes shut and tossing her head backward as it electrified her. He reached his own orgasm a few more thrusts later, as if he'd just been holding out until she got there first.

It all felt _so_ damn good.

He was still inside her, though neither one of them were moving anymore, when there was a knock on the door. "Excuse me?" a woman's voice said. "Is everything alright in there?"

Michael started to chuckle lightly, but Maria whacked his shoulder to shut him up. "Um, yeah, everything's fine," she said, she answered. "I'll be out in a minute."

They waited a few seconds until whoever was on the other side sounded like they were shuffling away, and then Michael slipped out of her and set her down on her own two feet again. "Did you like that?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"Yeah," she confessed, looking down at his still semi-hard cock. Part of her wanted to get down on _her_ knees and suck it, return the favor that he'd paid to her. But he'd already cum, and it would probably be too sensitive for that right now. Besides, they really had to get _out_ of that dressing room before anyone came knocking again.

As he pulled his jeans back up and fastened them, he said, "You know, we might have to squeeze in more quickies if we can't have as many late nights."

"It's bad, though," she said, sure that he probably had more important things to be doing right now. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Screw class," he mumbled. "I'd rather be screwing you."

Well . . . he'd certainly done that. But class mattered, too, and she hated that his grades were suffering because of how preoccupied he was with her.

He squatted down and picked her leggings up off the floor, handing them to her. "You comin' over later then?" he asked.

She would have loved to, but with Max's recent suspicions, it just didn't seem like a good idea. "I can't," she said, tugging her clothes back on. "I have to go home tonight."

"So when am I gonna see you?"

"Maybe . . ." She straightened all her clothes and her hair out, thinking through their limited options. There was one that stood out, though, seemed particularly appealing. "This weekend," she decided.

"When?"

"The whole weekend."

His eyes lit up with intrigue.

"Yeah, Max and I were planning on taking Dylan to Roswell to see my mom and Diane," she explained, "but I can just pretend I'm sick or something, and Max can just take him alone."

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's not like I'm dying to see my mom or anything."

Smirking, he moved in closer for a hungry kiss. "Sounds perfect," he murmured against her lips. "We can just . . ."

Visions of the two of them tangled up in sheets and in each other danced through her head. "We can just," she agreed, pressing her forehead against his. As intensely passionate as this frantic, rushed sex had been, this weekend would offer them more time. Time to draw it out, go slow, pay attention to every single inch of each other's bodies. This weekend, they wouldn't just have to fuck. They could make love.

...

While she was in the midst of trying to make sense of organic chemistry, a shadow fell over Sarah's textbook.

"Ew, studying," Tess said. "I really don't miss doing that."

Sarah smiled and closed her book, all too happy to be done with it for now. "Hey, Tess," she said, getting to her feet. "Coffee?"

Tess nodded affirmatively. "Coffee."

They went inside the union, stopped by the Starbucks counter, and then sat down at one of the open tables, where Sarah made sure to say, "Thanks for spending time with me today."

"It's not like it's a chore," Tess said as she sipped some of the foam off the top of her caramel macchiato.

"Well, I know I'm not exactly the most exciting person to hang out with these days," Sarah acknowledged. Even though she wasn't allowing herself to sink down into a black hole of depression or anything, she still felt pretty down in the dumps pretty often. It was hard to try to be . . . cheerful. About anything.

"Well, that works out well, because I'm not too exciting to hang out with, either," Tess said, smirking. "Hey, wanna go shopping after this? You can buy all the clothes I'm too big to fit into."

Sarah chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds fun." She really didn't need any more clothes in her closet, but it would be fun just to browse. "Can I talk to you about something first, though?" she asked. Before they made any effort to be lighthearted, there was something weighing on her, something she had to discuss.

"Sure," Tess said. "What is it?"

"Well . . ." She trailed off, sighing, dreading this conversation. But it was one they needed to have. She decided to ease into it gently. "End of the semester's coming up, and I'm not taking summer classes this year."

"Good for you. Enjoy your summer."

"That's the plan." It certainly wasn't going to be the summer she'd envisioned—no wedding or anything like that—but it could still be nice in its own way. "Actually, I was thinking I might—I might go home to Las Cruces this summer," she announced.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Tess said. "Save money, spend time with your family."

Inwardly, she cringed, clarifying, "And then I was thinking I might just . . . stay there."

Realization swept across Tess's face, and she quieted down. "Oh." As she thought about it for a few more seconds, it seemed to dawn on her just what a big change that would be. " _Oh_. You mean, like, transferring?"

Sarah nodded. "It's a bigger school. More classes." _Less Michael,_ she thought, hating that he was a big part of her motivation for this. "I think it might be a good fit."

"Yeah. Yeah, it—it might be," Tess stammered, trying to smile supportively.

"It's just an idea," Sarah assured her. "Nothing's set in stone at this point." She still had a month to figure out what was in her best interest. If Carlsbad was the right place for her to be, then she wouldn't leave. But if she'd be better off in Las Cruces, then . . .

"I know it'd be awful timing," she said, "what with the twins on the way and all."

"Hayden and Haley." Tess smiled fondly. "That's what we're naming them."

 _Hayden and Haley,_ Sarah thought. They would probably be perfect children, blessed with all sorts of amazing talents and abilities. They'd be smart and adorable and all the things that Kyle and Tess were. She wanted to know them, but if she left town, would that still be possible? "Look, I know I'm supposed to be their godmother, and it would be such an honor," she said. "But if you wanna pick someone else just in case I don't end up being around so much, I would understand."

"What?" Tess made a face and immediately dismissed that idea. "No. No. You're their godmother, no matter what." Reaching across the table, she squeezed Sarah's hand assuring. "You're my best friend. And I don't care if you're in Carlsbad, Las Cruces, or Fargo, North Dakota for crying out loud. You're always gonna be my best friend."

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. She'd expected as much, but still, it felt nice to hear it. "Like I said, it's just an idea at this point."

"Well, if that's what you decide to do . . ." Tess blinked back tears, but she managed to hold it together. "I'd miss you. But I'd support you."

 _Of course you would,_ Sarah thought. Tess was still a cheerleader, even if she didn't wear the uniform anymore. She supported people, encouraged them. Until they fell out of her good graces, anyway, like Michael had.

"It's not like I'm trying to run away from everything that happened here," Sarah said, feeling the need to explain herself. "It's just . . . it's been a lot to deal with, and I think I might just need a fresh start." It was ironic, she was aware, that Las Cruces seemed fresh; after all, her whole reason for choosing Carlsbad had been to get out on her own, have some independence, even if it meant a slightly longer commute back home. But right now . . . home just seemed _so_ inviting, and she would have done anything to be back there with her family, with people who loved her no matter what. Because obviously Michael hadn't been one of those people.

"Can I ask you something?" Tess requested quietly.

Sarah nodded.

Tess leaned in, her voice dropping almost to a whisper when she inquired, "Do you miss Michael?"

She could have lied, and part of her wanted to lie, just to seem stronger than she actually was. But this was her best friend sitting across from her. No need to lie to her. "Every single day," she admitted, letting the hurt linger. Even worse than missing him, however, was the agonizing suspicion that he didn't miss her nearly as much in return.

...

Michael felt like he had an extra bounce in his step as he headed to Lecuona Hall for Music Appreciation that Friday, not because he was particularly excited about the class or anything, but because he was excited to see Maria. The plan wasn't to have sex with her after class today; no, instead, he was just going to flirt with her, get her all hot and bothered so that, when they hooked up later tonight, she'd be begging for it.

"Yo, chico."

He grinned as Fly caught up to him. "Hey, man," he said. It felt like it'd been forever since he'd seen this kid.

"Hey," Fly returned, walking alongside him. "What's up, man? I ain't even seen you lately."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just busy."

"You busy this weekend?"

"This weekend?" Michael echoed. His plans were this weekend were set. In stone. "Uh, maybe. Why?"

"I was just thinkin' about havin' some people over," Fly explained. "You know, _fiesta_."

"With strippers?" Michael guessed.

"Hell, yeah, with strippers," Fly eagerly confirmed. "You in?"

He chuckled inwardly, because the only girl he wanted to watch take her clothes off _would_ take her clothes off for him. This weekend. All weekend. "Uh, well, the last stripper you booked was my ex-girlfriend," he reminded Fly, "so I'll pass."

"No, I won't get her," Fly assured him. "I could get an Asian chick."

Michael shot him a warning glare.

"Sorry, bad joke," Fly apologized quickly. "Come on, man, it'll be fun."

"Yeah, I know, but . . ." He also knew it wouldn't even compare to the fun he and Maria were going to have. He had virtually no interest in watching any other girl undress right now. None whatsoever. "I can't. I got stuff to do."

"Like what?" Fly prodded.

"Studying."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, for real." That was probably what he _should_ have been doing. "My grades suck this semester."

Fly sighed in resignation. "Alright, well . . . stop by Saturday if you get bored."

"Yeah, I will," Michael said, even though he knew there was no way he would get bored. "Later, Fly." He picked up the pace as Lecuona Hall came into view, eager to get in there and see his girl.

"Yo, Mike," Fly called after him.

He swiveled around.

In a rare moment of seriousness, Fly looked right at him and said, "I know you're busy and all, but don't forget to hang out with your friends once in a while."

 _My friends,_ Michael thought, nodding slowly. _Right._ They were important, too, and he didn't mean to make them feel _un_ important. But it was just that . . . given the choice to hang out with them or hang out with Maria, there was obviously no decision to be made.


	69. Chapter 69

"Maria, you ready to go?" Max hollered.

Maria slumped out of the bedroom, hair tousled, makeup smeared, hoping she looked like an absolute mess. "I don't know, Max," she groaned, trying to sound all achy. "I feel like crap right now."

"Still?" he asked as he set their bags down by the door.

She nodded. All day, she'd been hinting that she felt sick, and as the day had gone on, she'd tried to act sicker and sicker. He hadn't been home, but he'd called plenty of times from work, and each time she answered the phone, she'd tried to make her voice sound scratchier, more congested.

"I thought you were gonna rest today," he said.

"I did, but it didn't help."

"Did you end up goin' to class?"

She nodded.

"Why? I told you to just stay home."

"I know, but . . ." She shrugged, not about to tell him why she hadn't followed his advice.

"You think it's allergies?" he asked, taking a few steps closer to her.

She took a few back, shaking her head. "No, I think I'm getting a cold. My head hurts, my throat hurts. All I wanna do is lay down."

"Well, maybe we shouldn't go then," he suggested.

She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes momentarily just so it looked like she could barely keep them open. "But Dylan's all excited," she pointed out. "And your mom probably made some huge dinner for us."

"You think you can make it?" he asked.

"I don't know." She rubbed her forehead, glad that she wasn't really feeling as sick as she was pretending to be. "If I am getting a cold, I don't wanna spread it to you and Dylan." She glanced out the front window, watching him run around in the front yard. He was chasing an animal of some kind, hopefully just a squirrel or something harmless. "Maybe . . . maybe you should just take him without me," she told Max. "That way he still gets his weekend with his grandmas, and I get a chance to relax and start feeling better."

Max sighed, clearly thinking about it. But he didn't agree to it right away. "I don't know," he muttered. "You sure you'd be alright on your own?"

"Yeah. And I could always call Liz if I need anything."

"True," he said. "If you want me to stay, though . . ."

That was exactly what she _didn't_ want. For days now, she and Michael had both been eagerly anticipating this uninterrupted time together. She had to convince Max to leave, otherwise Michael wouldn't be able to come over and stay. "No, you should go," she told him. "Spend the weekend in Roswell. It might actually be kind of a nice father/son weekend for you guys."

He smiled fondly at the thought of that, but that smile soon fell, and it was as if he still wasn't completely convinced. "I just hate leavin' you here to fend for yourself," he said.

"Oh, I'll be fine," she promised him. "Honestly, a couple days to myself might just be exactly what I need."

His eyes narrowed as they stared straight into hers, and for a second, she was worried. Worried that he suspected something, that something just didn't feel right to him. But then, much to her relief, he eventually nodded his agreement.

Once Max had loaded up the car and driven away with Dylan, Maria wasted no time. She texted Michael to come on over, and then she hurried to make herself look more presentable. First she took her hair out of its messy ponytail and straightened it, even though it wouldn't stay that way for long once Michael got her in bed. Then she redid her makeup and picked out something cute to wear: jean shorts and Michael's very own Aggie sweatshirt, which she still had yet to return to him. Which she probably never would.

Standing before the full-length mirror on her bedroom door, she smiled confidently at her reflection. She felt . . . sexy. And whether that was because of her outfit or the fact that Michael would soon be taking it off of her was irrelevant, because it was a good feeling regardless.

The doorbell rang, and she couldn't recall feeling more excited in her whole life. She bounded towards it, taking a second to calm herself down before she opened it. "Hey," she said, smiling at him coolly, hoping to look . . . seductive.

"Hey." He came inside, his eyes immediately roaming all over her, taking her in. "You look . . . really good."

"Thanks." He didn't look so bad himself.

"So . . ." He shut the door for her and looked around. "Here we are."

"Here we are," she agreed. "Place to ourselves." There were only a few times he'd ever actually been over there, and even though this wouldn't be the first time they'd had sex there, it would be the first time he'd be able to spend the night. And spend the next day. And the day after that.

"When are they comin' back?" he asked.

"Bright and early . . . Monday morning." She grinned.

"So we've got some time then."

"Oh, yeah. Plenty of time." She backed into the living room, teasing, "In fact, we don't even have to have sex right away. We could just sit around, watch some TV, kill some time if you want to."

He gave her a knowing, suggestive look, obviously amused, but also eager to get started.

 _Oh, who am I kidding?_ she thought, giving in. _I can't wait._

They closed the distance between each other swiftly, mouths crashing together, hands immediately grabbing, groping; and together, they stumbled down the hallway and into the bedroom.

...

"Gramma!"

Amy gasped with delight, beaming from ear to ear when she saw her grandson. "Hi, sweetie!" She knelt down and gave him a huge hug. "I missed you."

"Missed you, too, Gramma," he said. Pulling back from her embrace, he held up a daisy for her, one that appeared to have been plucked right here out of Diane's front yard.

"Oh, well, thank you," Amy said, taking a sniff. "Mmm. My goodness, look at you. You look even bigger than you did at Christmas."

"That's 'cause I'm not a kid anymore, Gramma," he proclaimed proudly.

"Oh, no? Are you a grown-up now?"

He nodded affirmatively. "Yep."

"Okay, if you say so." She gave his cheeks a little squeeze, and he giggled. "Why don't you head into the kitchen and say hi to your other grandma?" she suggested. "I think she's making us dinner right now."

Dylan's eyes got really big, and he yelled, "Food!" and darted inside.

Amy laughed, standing up straight again. "Hi, Max," she said, opening her arms to hug him as well.

"Amy. Good to see you."

Looking out over his shoulder, she expected to see Maria still in the car, maybe talking on the phone or grabbing some of their luggage. But there was no Maria. Anywhere.

"Where's my daughter?" she asked, confused as to why she wouldn't be there.

"Oh, she couldn't make it," Max explained, coming inside. "She's home sick."

"With what?"

"Just a cold."

Amy snorted. "Must be a pretty bad cold for her to stay home." A sore throat or stuffy nose shouldn't have kept Maria away this weekend. They had family plans, and those were important.

"Yeah, she just didn't feel up to comin'," Max said as he took off his shoes. "Still wanted me to bring Dylan, though."

"Well, I'm glad you did." Seeing that little guy was obviously the highlight of the whole weekend for both her and Diane. "Your mom and I have been looking forward to seeing him. And you. And Maria, but . . ." She trailed off, disappointed that her daughter couldn't have just toughed her way through it.

"I'm gonna go see my mom," Max said as he headed to the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure." Amy smiled at him, then waited until he was gone, to let a frown find its way to her face. Not because Maria was sick, but rather because she had a hard time believing that.

...

"Mmm," Maria purred as Michael spooned with her that night, his arms around her waist, holding her close. All the energy had vanished from her body, and she felt completely spent. But also completely content.

"I missed this," Michael said, rubbing his legs against her beneath the covers.

"What, sex?" she teased. "We've been having plenty of it."

"No, _this_."

She smiled, grateful to have this time with him. "Yeah, me, too." It was nice not to have to rush around or put a quick end to the night. Being able to just lie with him and bask in his warmth felt so romantic.

"But now I get to fall asleep with you," he murmured, kissing the back of her neck, then her shoulder. "And wake up with you. And fall asleep again tomorrow night."

"Mmm," she moaned again, smiling happily at the thought of it. "Today was amazing."

" _You_ were amazing," he emphasized.

 _Just trying to keep up,_ she thought. Sexually speaking, Michael sure knew how to wear her out, but she just reveled in every second of it.

"I love you so much, Maria," he told her, his voice getting softer as he became more tired.

He told her that almost every time they were together, like it was his way of assuring her that it wasn't just about sex. But she already knew that. And even though he had to know that she loved him, too, she realized she didn't say it enough. But tonight, as they lay here, falling asleep in each other's arms for the first time in years . . . tonight it just felt right.

"I love you, too."

...

Even if his mom hadn't said, "Rise and shine," Max would have woken up when she came into the room the next morning. Because she had a tray of food with her, and it smelled amazing.

"What the . . ." He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Mom. You didn't have to do this."

"Oh, it's not all that often I get to see you," she said, setting the tray down on his lap. "I need to spoil you when I do."

"Well, thanks." He surveyed the insurmountable collection of food in front of him. Eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, hash browns, and two pancakes drenched in syrup. She'd made way too much, but he'd eat as much of it as he could. This was way better than the cereal and Toaster Strudels he normally ate for breakfast.

He first took a bite of the pancakes and nodded his appreciation as he swallowed. "Tastes good."

"Oh, I'm glad."

He scooted over a bit, giving her room to sit down next to him. And there was plenty of room. Even though this was just the guest bedroom, the bed in it was bigger than his and Maria's was.

"Is Dylan still asleep?" he asked, continuing to eat.

"No, he's up," his mother replied. "I made him some breakfast, too."

 _So Dylan and I are both getting spoiled then,_ Max thought. Not that he minded. In fact, he pretty much knew to expect it at this point. His mom had always treated him well, probably better than he deserved. Maybe it was the guilt of not having been in his life for the majority of it. He often thought she blamed herself for his drug problem, because she hadn't been there to prevent it. But at least, unlike Isabel, he'd put his problems behind him.

"So how have you been, Max?" she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Good."

"And how's work?"

He shrugged. "Steady. Backbreaking, but steady." Honestly, on his weekend off, work was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

"Don't worry, you won't have to work construction for the rest of your life," she assured him.

"Or paint houses?"

"No, you'll go back to school someday. I just know it."

He appreciated her optimism, though sometimes, he doubted it. Lawyer Max had left the building a long time ago. "I don't mind," he said. "I mean, it's hard work, and I'm way more blue collar than I ever thought I'd be, but . . ." He trailed off and shrugged again. "It's alright. I come home every night to an amazing son who loves me. So I'm pretty lucky." Even that was probably an understatement considering how his relationship with his son had begun.

"And your daughter loves you, too," his mom added.

He smiled, wishing he had Scarlet with him this weekend, too. "My daughter's perfect."

"She is," his mom agreed before asking about the other important ladies in his life. "So how's Maria? How's Liz?"

"They're good, yeah," he told her between bites. "I know Maria wishes she felt up to coming this weekend."

"Yeah, I wish she was here, too. But at least you and Dylan came."

"Yep." He stopped eating long enough to take a drink of the orange juice she'd given him. Holy crap, that stuff was fresh. The whole thing was like the kind of breakfast you got at a fancy hotel or something.

"So do you think you and Maria are getting any closer to . . . making things official?" His mother smiled at him hopefully.

"You mean getting married?" he translated.

"Yeah."

He didn't feel like they were close to that at all. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, given their history. "I don't think Maria's in any big rush," he said. If she was, she sure as hell hadn't mentioned anything about it to him. "So if she's not, then I'm not, either."

"Do you think it _could_ happen, though?" his mom pressed. "Sometime this year?"

He didn't want to give her any false hope, but at the same time, it wasn't impossible even though it was improbable. "It could. You never know," he said. "But right now, things are good." He understood that his mom wanted to see her son get married, but it just wasn't all that important in the scheme of things. Whether he put a ring on Maria's finger or not, they were going to continue to be good. And that was all that mattered.

...

Resisting the urge to wake up, Michael moved closer to Maria. Or, at least, what should have been Maria. He reached for her, but the bed was empty.

Opening his eyes, he lifted up his head and looked around the bedroom, confused. "Maria?" Maybe she'd just gotten up to go to the bathroom or something.

He tossed the blankets aside, sat up, and pulled on his boxers, then headed out into the hall. He heard her rummaging around in the kitchen, and when he sauntered out there to join her, he just stood behind the fridge and peeked his head around, watching as she cooked. It didn't come naturally to her, that was for sure. She made a face when the toast popped up out of the toaster, very burnt. She grabbed it with her fingertips and winced, quickly dropping one slice at a time onto the two plates she had set out on the counter. Then she returned her attention to the eggs she had in the frying pan, groaning when they started to stick.

 _So cute,_ he thought, smiling as he watched her. Although there was something about the fact that she was just wearing his t-shirt that was just fucking sexy.

"Seriously?" he teased, slinking towards her. "All that talk about wakin' up with you, and then you aren't even there?"

"I was trying to cook," she said, twisting one of the oven knobs to turn off the heat on the eggs. "I thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"It is." Half of it probably wouldn't even be edible, but hell if he cared.

"Well, I can't guarantee it'll be a Sarah Nguyen level breakfast, but . . ." She shrugged helplessly. "I tried."

He moved right up in front of her, placing his hands on her waist, pulling the t-shirt up a bit. "You don't have to compare yourself to her," he said.

"It's kinda hard not to."

"Why?" He didn't get that. Was it just a competitive girl thing? Female insecurity? "I don't compare myself to Max."

"You don't?" She sounded surprised.

"No. I already know I'm smarter and better-looking. And that you love me more." He smirked.

Her eyes dropped down to his chest as her fingers grazed up his sides. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about Max and Sarah," she suggested.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk at all." He moved in closer, pressing his body against hers. "I'm hungry."

"That's why I cooked," she pointed out.

He shook his head, grinning suggestively. "That's not what I'm hungry for." Pressing his hips forward a bit, he let her know just how much seeing her in his shirt turned him on.

She inhaled sharply, grabbing his arms, and he kissed her, wishing he'd brushed his teeth first. But she didn't seem to mind. Her hands were sliding up to circle around his neck in seconds, and she held on tightly as he lifted her up and set her down on the counter. She spread her legs, and he moved in between them, kissing her insistently, ready to make love to her right there.

...

Max brought Dylan to Amy's shop that day, and she opened it up just for him. She was adamant to keep the closed sign facing the street, since it was a Saturday, but she said she had no qualms about letting Dylan pick out a few things.

"Cool!" Dylan exclaimed as he eyed an alien head backpack. "Dad, can I have it?"

"Ask your grandma," Max replied.

Dylan looked at Amy with side, hopeful eyes.

"You can have whatever you want," she told him.

"Awesome!" He picked up the backpack and unzipped it, then ran over to the keychains.

Max quickly saw where this was going. He was going to fill up that whole bag, and they were going to end up with more quirky alien souvenirs than they knew what to do with. "Hey, Dylan," he called. "Three things."

Dylan pouted exaggeratedly, then wagered, "Four?"

"No, three." Max smirked. Good on his kid for at least attempting a better deal.

Dylan became decidedly less maniacal then as he slowed down and started looking over everything in the store so he could make a smart choice.

"I'll pay you, Amy," Max promised. Knowing his luck, Dylan would pick the three most expensive things there.

"Oh, don't even worry about it," Amy said. "I've got more silly alien stuff than any person should ever have."

"Pays the bills, though," he pointed out.

"Most of the time." She sighed, then chuckled as Dylan spied an item in the farthest back corner of the store. It was in the shape of a football, but it was bright green and had eyes like an alien.

"He's gonna have fun with that," Max said as his son put the ball in the backpack.

"Sure is," Amy agreed, turning towards him. "Hey, while he's occupied," she said, "can I ask you something, Max?"

"Sure."

She hesitated, bit her bottom lip, and when she did speak, it was in a low tone, one that Dylan wouldn't overhear. "Do you really think Maria's sick?"

"What?" He frowned, not sure he even understood why that was a question. "Yeah, why wouldn't she be?"

"Oh, I just wonder if maybe she was looking for an excuse to not have to spend the weekend with me."

"What? No," Max said quickly. "No, she wouldn't do that."

"I don't know." Amy still sounded skeptical. "Our relationship is . . . well, you know what our relationship's like."

He knew that Amy's personality could be a grating one, and most of the time, Maria just bit her tongue and put up with her. But surely that wasn't enough for her to bail out on the entire weekend. "Isn't it better than what it used to be?" he pointed out.

"Better, but still not great." She sighed dejectedly, eyes downcast. "I know I wasn't the most supportive, compassionate mom, but I do love my daughter. And it hurts to think that she doesn't love me."

"She does," Max reassured her, although he didn't doubt that that love was an extremely strained one. "And she's just sick, Amy; she's not avoiding you."

"Are you sure?" Amy asked.

"Positive," he said. "She wouldn't lie to me."

...

They day went fast. Too fast. Why was it that the days you couldn't wait to be over dragged on and on, and the days you wanted to last forever flew by at light speed?

At least it was a good day, though, even if it was fast. Neither Maria nor Michael had ever really gotten dressed, because there hadn't been any reason to. It was like they were tucked away in their own private little utopia, where nothing could disturb them or disrupt them.

Well . . . there were a few disruptions. Phone calls, mostly. From Max. But she couldn't very well do anything about that. Whenever he called, she pretty much had to answer. Otherwise he'd just keep calling, and since her whole cover story here was that she was sick, he'd probably start to worry that something was wrong if he got her voicemail too many times.

Around 9:00, he called for the last time, just to tell her goodnight. He told her about taking Dylan to her mom's shop that day, and taking him to the park with Diane. It sounded like they were having a really good time, and had she not been having such a great time of her own, she probably would have regretted not being there.

She had to do a few fake coughs and make her voice sound weaker and scratchier than it actually was, but when he asked her if she was feeling better, she told him that she was, that she'd probably be back to her old self by the time he got home Monday morning. He sounded happy to hear that.

Once their conversation was over, she skipped back into the living room, where Michael was sitting on the couch. The only light was coming from the TV. _American Ninja Warrior_ was showing on repeat, and apparently he was still a fan of it.

She hopped onto the couch with a little bit too much force, and he winced and yelped, "Oh! Careful, babe. Watch the junk," as her head hit his lap.

"Sorry," she said, wriggling to get positioned comfortably.

He lay one hand on her chest and touched her hair with the other. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Max."

He made a face. "Again?"

"He thinks I'm sick," she reminded him. "He's just checking up on me."

"Ah, so nice."

"Hey, don't be jealous."

"I'm not jealous," he denied adamantly.

She gave him a doubtful look.

"I'm not," he insisted. "I just wish you'd turn your phone off."

"I can't." She reached over and set her phone aside on the coffee table, though, confident that it wouldn't ring again. Max had said he was going to bed soon, and no one else had any reason to be calling her. The rest of tonight was theirs.

"So what're we gonna do tomorrow?" she asked, already looking forward to it. Another full day with him. She felt spoiled.

"Uh, more sex comes to mind," he answered bluntly. "Unless you're too tired."

"I'm not tired," she said, smiling up at him.

"Didn't think so." His eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked down at her. "Come here," he putting his hand underneath her head.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position and climbed on top of his lap, straddling him. His mouth found hers, and for a moment, their tongues swirled around each other, and she thought he was going to pull her shirt up and her push her panties down so he could do her right there. But a few seconds into the kiss, he surprised her by pulling away.

"Do you love me?" he asked huskily, his eyes locked with hers.

"Yes," she replied, her voice a breathy whisper.

He trailed one hand through her hair, his callused palm grazing her cheek. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," she said, struck by his sudden seriousness. "Why?"

"Because," he said, his hands rubbing her hips, "I know something we can do tomorrow."

She had a feeling she knew exactly what he was hinting at—Michael was the kind of guy who was as subtle as a dump trunk. When his hands moved around to squeeze her backside, she knew with absolute certainty.


	70. Chapter 70

The shower was a good idea. Not only for the obvious sanitary reasons, but because it was relaxing. And Maria knew she had to be relaxed for this. She stood with Michael under the cascade of warm water, letting herself get aroused by the slick feel of his skin against hers. His hands moved all over her, rubbing, squeezing, massaging, and they longer they stood in there, the lower they roamed.

She shuddered with anticipation as he spun her around so that her back was to him. The last time she'd let him have sex with her this way, she hadn't known what to expect. She'd just been an eager nineteen year old girl, willing to try anything with her boyfriend—her _far_ more experienced boyfriend, who was still more experienced than her and still reassured her he'd make this great for her. And she knew he would. He knew what he was doing, and he savored the act so much that he wouldn't rush through it. It'd been exhilarating last time, even if it had felt a little bizarre at first, and it would probably be even better now that she knew what to expect. It was something she desperately wanted to experience again, but Michael was the only person she wanted to experience it with. Ever.

This was _their_ thing.

He sank down on his knees in the shower and started raining tender kisses all over her ass. His hands wrapped around her legs and stroked her inner thigh while he did so, and Maria threw her head back, eyes closed, smiling as the water continued to pour down on her. Already, he was making her feel completely and utterly adored, and it was the best feeling in the world.

When they got out of the shower, he was in total romance mood. Ironic, perhaps, considering that anal sex wasn't traditionally thought to be romantic. But she swore he never touched her more gently or held her more tenderly than he did when they were doing this. Before, during, after . . . he knew how to do every phase of this in a way that demonstrated his utmost appreciation and respect for her. But she wanted him to know that she wasn't just doing this for him anymore. She was doing it _with_ him.

He picked up the towel and dried her off, and then she took it and did the same to him, mesmerized by all the water droplets decorating his broad chest. When she got lower, she was struck by how hard he already was. He already wanted her. But he still wouldn't go too fast. She trusted him completely, because she knew he'd take it slow. He'd make sure she was ready so that it wasn't painful.

Eventually, he brought her into the bedroom, where everything was already set up for them. He had the covers pulled back and the pillows arranged so that she'd be comfortable. There were plenty under her head, and one under her hips, too.

She lay on her stomach, arms folded, head turned to the side, waiting for him to _really_ start his explorations. It was a lot of massaging at first, which helped her to further relax, but she decided to take matters into her own hands by spreading her legs, giving him a not so subtle hint that she was ready for the next step. Looking back over her shoulder, she grinned playfully. He smiled, too, getting the message, and his hands and fingers started to become more daring, tracing up and down her crack, skimming right over the hole he would soon enter.

Closing her eyes felt natural as he shifted, moving himself down further on the bed. He brought his mouth down to kiss each cheek again, but it gradually started to follow the path his hands had. He had pretty much the same technique back there that he had when he went down on her in the typical way: some little flicks of the tongue, followed by some longer, sensual licks. It felt strange at first, only because it had been years since they'd done this, and self-consciously, she laughed.

It was easy to lose track of time while he was down there, because after the initial strangeness wore off, it started to feel sinfully good. He sat up eventually, though, and reached towards the night stand for the lube. He'd brought it with him, apparently anticipating that this was something they'd do this weekend. He applied it generously to every inch of her skin back there, making sure everything was slickened up nicely before concentrating specifically on her entrance.

She moaned contentedly as he slipped a finger inside her, because she knew she was in the hands of an expert. Michael Guerin was sexually gifted. He could do things that other people just couldn't do, didn't know how to do, or didn't care to even try.

Another finger eventually joined the first, moving in and out of her, getting her ready. There really wasn't any pain so much as there was just a pressure. But as long as she kept her body relaxed and her muscles loose, it felt fine.

It felt more than fine, actually.

She found herself moaning when he withdrew his fingers after several more minutes of foreplay, because she wanted him. All of him. She wanted to feel him moving in and out of her, of this most private part of her. And she wanted him to make her cum this time, because she knew it was possible.

"Do you want me to . . ." She trailed off and started sitting back on her knees, but he put his hand on the small of her back and urged her down again.

"No, no, you're good right there," he said, his voice husky with desire.

She looked over her shoulder, watching as he lubed up his own cock, stroking it a few more times than was probably necessary before moving forward on his knees, positioning himself right at her entrance. "You ready?" he asked.

"I don't know, you tell me," she joked. He was, after all, the one who'd been doing all the work down there.

"No, _you_ tell _me_ ," he insisted, like he wouldn't dare continue forward with this if he didn't get her permission one last time.

"I'm ready," she assured him, finding it sweet that he would have stopped even this far into it if she'd asked him to.

"Alright, don't worry," he said, circling the head of his cock around her tight hole. "I won't go too fast."

"I know," she said, smiling. "You'll take care of me."

"That's right." He got this intensely fascinated look on his face as he pushed forward, entering her just a little bit. Even though she tried to stay relaxed, she couldn't help but clench up a little bit. This was technically an exit that he was entering, after all.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded wordlessly, taking a few deep breaths, relaxing again. He waited a few seconds, then eased forward a little more. And then even more. Inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, he penetrated her. In a way that she hadn't been penetrated in three years.

It never ceased to amaze her that her own body could stretch to accommodate him. Michael was definitely well-endowed, and having him inside her _here_ made him feel even bigger.

"Good?" he asked, grabbing one butt cheek with each hand.

"Very good," she told him, reacquainting herself with this feeling. God, how had she gone so long without it?

He squeezed and kneaded her flesh as he began to roll his hips forward. The movements were pretty subdued, for now at least, but she had no doubt he'd pick up the pace once they got into their rhythm.

"You like it?" he growled low in his throat.

"I love it," she moaned, wishing she had the luxury of seeing it like he did. That had to be a total turn-on.

"Want me to go faster?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded hazily. Already, she was getting lost in this. A faster pace and increased friction would be completely intoxicating.

He did start to speed up his thrusts, but he never started going _too_ fast. He just knew how to strike that perfect balance so that she felt like she was being fucked without being used.

As great as this was feeling, she was well aware that this was the same position they'd done it in last time. He said it was supposed to be the most comfortable one for girls, but she felt plenty comfortable. Comfortable enough to switch it up, even. So she pushed backward, bring her knees up underneath her, and he immediately stopped thrusting and held onto her hips so he stayed inside her.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah." Slowly, she got up on her hands and knees, and he just moved right along with her, keeping his cock buried. He seemed to like the new position—and why wouldn't he? It was pretty much just doggy-style, his favorite—so he resumed thrusting right away. His hands remained on her hips, gripping tightly, pulling her ass back as he pressed forward.

"Oh, god yes," she breathed as her whole body sizzled for him. She liked this new position, because now she had more control over it. She started to rock her hips backward and forward so much that he eventually just stopped thrusting, took his hands off of her, and let her do the work.

"That's my girl," he said, grinning with satisfaction.

 _That's right,_ she thought, feeling dizzy with pleasure. _I'm your girl._

"Look at you," he said, watching in astonishment as she backed herself up on him over and over again. She definitely felt herself becoming more assertive in bed these days. Never would she be as dominant as he was, nor did she want to be. But every once in a while, it was fun to surprise him.

He surprised her, too, when he leaned forward, grabbed her hair in one fist, and pulled back hard. She gasped, not expecting the sudden rush that gave her. It made her feel even more animalistic, more aroused. Soon enough, he started thrusting his hips forward again, and it was a much more frenetic pace this time, one that she welcomed. She thought he might be nearing his climax, because he always sped up when he got close, but he surprised her again when he bent forward, wrapped his arms around her midsection, and whispered, "Come here, baby."

Her stomach muscles fluttered as he pulled her upward with him so that her back was sliding against his chest. They still stayed connected. Though the positions kept changing, every movement felt fluid and easy, like water.

They moved together, perfectly synchronized, and she didn't doubt that their hearts were beating in tandem, too. She arched her spine and tossed her head backward, eyes closed, various moans and whimpers of pleasure escaping her open mouth. His arms wrapped around her so his hands could caress her breasts and stomach; and every once in a while, in the midst of everything else their bodies were doing, he would remember to kiss her shoulder, her neck, her ear. All those little things added to the ecstasy blazing through her. It was when one of his hands ventured down in between her legs, however, to play with her clit that she totally lost it.

"Oh!" she cried out lustfully. "Oh god!" Every inch of her was teeming with pleasure.

"Yeah, come on," he rasped into her ear as his fingers worked their magic. "Come on."

She knew he was desperately trying to get her off before he came, and she was close, no doubt about it. She felt the familiar sensation rumbling deep inside, like a fire pooling low in her abdomen, ready to explode. Just a little bit more . . .

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted as he kept thrusting. She was feeling it in all the right places. "Oh, fuck, Michael!" Squeezing her eyes shut, she moaned loudly as her orgasm ripped through her. It felt like lightning crackling through all her limbs, pulsing, sending shockwaves through her body. She dissolved into pleasure, leaning back against him for support, barely able to keep herself upright as she drenched that hand of his between her legs. He held her upright for a few seconds, then carefully lay her back down on her stomach and plastered himself atop her, undulating his hips forward for a few jarring final thrusts. He groaned and halted his movements as he achieved his own orgasm. Judging by his volume, it must have been an intense one.

Once it was over, he slumped against her, his larger body a heavy weight on hers. He moved out of her quickly enough, though, so that he wouldn't crush her, and curled up to her on his side. He looked completely spent, and she felt completely spent, but at the same time . . . that had just been _so_ good. And there was still plenty of time left in the day. The afternoon. The night.

Grinning dazedly, he asked, "You wanna do that again?"

She smiled back at him, still feeling like the earth was spinning. But obviously her answer was yes.

...

Max turned down the volume on the radio when he noticed that Dylan was falling asleep, slumped to the side in his car seat. He turned the corner onto the highway that would lead back to Las Cruces, and every once in a while, he glanced back at his son and smiled. The first time he'd been in a car with him, the poor kid had been terrified, crying, screaming. A lot had changed since then, and he was glad it had.

A few more miles down the hallway, he picked up his phone and pressed and held the number one to speed dial Maria. After a few rings, he was expecting her to answer, but she never did. In fact, it kicked onto her voicemail.

" _Hey, this is Maria. Leave me a message, and I'll call you back."_

After the beep, he cleared his throat and said, "Hey, it's me. Just wanted to let you know, we're on our way home. Dylan was pretty tired, so I thought it'd be better to bring him back tonight instead of tomorrow morning. Plus, we kinda miss you." He smiled, hoping she was feeling better now than she'd been when he'd left. "Anyway, we'll be home soon. Love you." He ended the call and tossed his phone aside into the passenger's seat. Maybe she'd call him back, maybe not. Maybe he'd make it home before she even saw that she had a voicemail. Right now, she was probably just resting.

...

Maria groaned as her phone vibrated, then beeped. It was making all sorts of noises, even though she had the ringer turned off. Just enough noises to wake her up.

She reached over and grabbed it, checking to see what was going on. One missed call. From Max, probably. And a voicemail.

She could listen to it later.

Setting her phone aside, she flopped back down on her stomach, head turned towards Michael. He hadn't stirred. He lay on his side, naked underneath the thin sheet covering both of them. She scooted a little closer, just close enough to be able to inhale his scent. He looked as exhausted as she felt. After everything they'd done today, they just needed to get some rest. And once nighttime came, then they could be wide awake again.

She closed her eyes and drifted back off to sleep.

...

Glancing back in the rearview mirror, Max actually felt bad for having to wake his son up. He looked like he could just sleep the whole night away slumped to the side in his car seat. It didn't look particularly comfortable, but it must have been good enough.

"Hey, Dylan, wake up," Max said as he turned onto their street. "We're almost home."

Dylan moved around a bit, struggling to open his eyes. "Already?" he squeaked out.

"Yeah. You slept the whole way . . ." Max trailed off, narrowing his eyes curiously at the red car parked in his driveway next to Maria's. The only person he could think that would be over at his house was Liz, but that wasn't her vehicle. Unless she'd gotten a new one recently, but he doubted it.

"Who's here?" Dylan asked, noticing the same thing.

"I don't know." Max pulled in behind the car, looking it over some more. There was a familiarity about it, even though nothing stood out.

"Whose car?" Dylan asked, unbuckling his seatbelt so he could lean forward and get a closer look.

Max frowned, trying to place where and when he'd seen it before. And suddenly, it just hit him. Here, right here, in this very driveway. The night Michael and Sarah had come over to have dinner. He remembered wondering if the fact that the numbers 69 were on the license plate were just a coincidence or something Michael had requested on purpose.

 _What the hell?_ he thought, confused. Why was Michael over there?

"Hey, why don't you shoot around for a minute before you come in?" he suggested to his son.

Dylan groaned. "Do I hafta?"

"Yeah, make ten shots." Max got out of the car, roaming around to the other side to help Dylan out, but he got out on his own.

"That's gonna take me forever," he complained, sulking over towards the basketball hoop.

"You can do it," Max encouraged him, glancing towards the house. The curtains were all pulled.

Dylan picked up the long-forgotten basketball that sat next to the hoop, bounced it up and down a few times, and flung it into the air unenthusiastically. Somehow, it hit the rim and fell in.

"Good. That's one. Keep doin' that," Max told him as he headed up to the porch. He tried the door, but it was locked, so he inserted his key and turned the handle carefully, quietly, pushing the door open with a deliberate slowness so that it wouldn't creak.

It was almost eerily quiet in there. No lights, even though evening was setting in. No sounds from the TV. Just silence.

"Maria?" he called softly, looking around. Just how sick had she been this weekend? The kitchen was a mess, with plates and pans and cooking ingredients lying everywhere, and the living room was in similar shape. There were blankets and pillows on the floor, and the coffee table looked like it had been moved a few times.

It didn't make sense. Maria wasn't a clean freak or anything, but still, she wouldn't leave the house like this. Not even when she was under the weather.

Something inside him hesitated as he stepped further into the house, like he just didn't want to go any further. But something else kept going.

He shuffled forward, stopping to bend and pick up a towel that was lying on the floor in the middle of the hallway, still damp. Frowning, he then looked back at the door to his bedroom. It was just slightly ajar, and he could barely make out Maria's sleeping form inside.

 _Maybe she called Michael because she's sick,_ he reasoned as he slowly approached the door. _And Liz couldn't make it over or wasn't answering her phone or something. So she called Michael._

His heart started to beat faster, and he felt a lump forming in his throat as he got closer to the door.

 _Why would she call Michael?_ It didn't make any sense.

A sense of fear twisted through him from the moment he started to push open the door. It intensified the moment he got a closer look at Maria as she lay asleep on the bed. Completely naked.

Too late, he wished he could walk back out that door and forget any of his suspicions. When he pushed open the door enough, though, he saw what he dreaded seeing, what he'd worried he would see from the second he pulled into that driveway.

Michael. Lying next to Maria in bed, unclothed as she was.

His heart stopped beating, and he just stood and stared.

 _Maria?_

It didn't matter that there was some space between them now, that they weren't touching. Because it was clear that they had been.

 _No. Please no._

He felt like he could barely even blink, but he wanted to. He wanted to blink his eyes and see something different when they snapped back open. He wanted this to be a nightmare. Because there was no way it could be real. There was no _way_ Maria would be in bed with that guy right now. In _their_ bed. There was no way she would have betrayed them.

The longer he stared, the more real it became.

At one point, Michael shifted and moved in a little closer to Maria, but that was it. Otherwise, they both just kept sleeping peacefully, each of them completely unaware that he was standing there.

 _What do I do?_ he thought, feeling like an idiot. He couldn't just keep staring like an idiot. He had to . . . do something.

His most guttural reaction, of course, was to yell. Scream at the top of his lungs. Wake them the hell up and demand to know what had happened. Even though it was obvious. Even though he didn't need them to paint him a fucking picture in his head. He _wanted_ to get angry, and he wanted to take all that anger out on Michael. He wanted to punch that loser's fucking face in. His hands yearned for it. And if Maria tried to pull him away, he'd toss her aside and just keep going. Just keep beating on him like he had that night on the bridge.

His breath caught in horror. The bridge. That night. No, he couldn't repeat that night. He had to be smarter than that. He had to keep his cool.

Carefully, he reached out and grabbed the doorknob, pulling it shut again, keeping it just slightly ajar so Maria would have no clue he'd been there. And then he turned around and staggered back down the hall, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. He couldn't see anything in front of him, because all he could see was the two of them together.

No wonder she hadn't been answering her phone. She probably hadn't even heard it. Or if she did, she probably didn't even care.

She didn't care about him at all, did she?

He dropped the towel back down onto the floor, right in the exact spot where he'd picked it up, and he stumbled back to the front door, trying to focus on what really mattered here: Dylan. He had to get him out of there. He couldn't have him run inside and see that. He couldn't try to explain it. He didn't want him to overhear the confrontation about it. He had to protect him instead of endangering him this time.

Nearly tripping over his own feet, he practically fell out the front door onto the porch. He literally felt sick, like he might throw up any minute, but he struggled to keep it together and pulled the door shut, locking it into place again.

Dylan was still out in the driveway, lethargically dribbling, shoulders slumped in defeat. "I only made two," he admitted shamefully. As if it was even something to be ashamed of.

"That's alright," Max assured him, kicking it into high gear. "Let's go." He practically ran back into the driveway, eager to get out of there now.

"But I'm not done yet," Dylan pointed out.

"It's fine. Just get in the car." Max opened up the door to the backseat and hurriedly motioned him inside.

Dylan set his ball down and toddled back over to the vehicle, his face scrunched up in confusion. "Where we goin'?" he asked.

"Just . . . somewhere," Max replied vaguely. _Anywhere but here._

Dylan tilted his head to the side, looking up at Max with wide, curious eyes. It was that same expression he'd had on his face all those years ago, when he'd coaxed him out of Michael's house and persuaded him to climb into his car.

"We're gonna go get some ice cream," Max told him, hoping that might be enough to distract him, put his little mind at ease. "Does that sound fun?"

Dylan thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess." He climbed back into the car, crawled up into his car seat, and Max quickly reached in and got him all belted up.

"Alright, let's go," he said, forcing an excited smile. Only when he stood up and slammed the door did he let that smile drop. The despair took over again, and his jaw trembled as he tried to keep the emotions inside.

He took a deep breath, trying to make himself feel like stone as he walked back around to the other side of the car, got in, and pulled out of the driveway as fast as he could. If he was made of stone, then what he saw couldn't hurt him. If he was stone, then this wouldn't be enough to make him break.


	71. Chapter 71

Maria felt a slight tickle as Michael's hands grazed up and down her bare back. She smiled, keeping her eyes closed, and asked, "What're you doing?"

"Waking you up," he replied, wrapping his arms around her suddenly. He moved her so that she was on her back, and he got on top of her so he could kiss her deeply. Instantly, she felt wide awake.

"Mmm," she moaned into his mouth, hands and legs sliding all around his body. When he bent his head to suck on the side of her neck, she couldn't contain a groan of pleasure. She swung her head to the side, reveling in the glorious feeling of his tongue sliding against her skin. "That feels good," she told him.

"Yeah?" Seconds later, he was moving lower, low enough to latch onto one of her nipples while his hand covered her other breast.

She gasped, delighted, and arched her back off the bed, pressing further into his mouth. Her breasts were a huge trigger point for her, and she so appreciated how he never neglected them. "That feels _really_ good," she said, tangling her hands in his hair.

Her mind began to race with possibilities, with the anticipation that he might slink down even lower still and get to the area that could do some _real_ good. But right in the midst of it, as she was really starting to feel it, her phone let out a shrill ring.

"Son of a bitch," Michael muttered, lifting his head. "Don't get that."

"No, just hold on a minute," she said, reaching over to pick it up. She couldn't help but frown when she saw Max's name on the screen.

"Come on, Maria," he said, nuzzling his face against her neck.

"It'll just take a minute," she promised, knowing she had to answer this time. She'd already neglected to pick up a few times today, and she didn't want Max to worry.

Michael sat up abruptly, rolling his eyes, and swung the covers aside as he got out of bed.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I don't wanna be here for this," he mumbled as he strode out into the hallway completely naked.

She sighed heavily as the phone continued to ring in her hand. When it was about to kick onto voicemail, she relented and answered it. "Hey," she said, trying to sound as if she were happy to hear from Max. Not that she wasn't, just . . . it was just bad timing. But there was no way for him to know that.

"Hey," he said. "You sound . . . chipper."

 _Probably too chipper,_ she thought, reminding herself that she was supposed to be sick, or at least in the process of getting better. "Oh, I, uh . . ." She cleared her throat, trying to make it sound as if she were coughing. "I am feeling better now, I think."

"Good, good," he said. "Hey, so did you get my voicemail?"

"Voicemail?" she echoed. Crap, had he left her one of those? "Uh, no. No, I was . . . resting."

"Right," he said. "Well, Dylan and I are almost home. We decided to leave early."

Every inch of her was immediately on high alert. "Oh, really?" She sat up in the bed, looking outside. It was definitely later than she'd realized, almost completely dark outside. She hadn't expected Max to drive home at night.

"We missed you," he informed her.

"Oh, that's . . ." _Awful,_ she thought, panicking. What if they were about to pull into the driveway? "So . . . so how far away are you then?"

"Well, we stopped by Dairy Queen to get some ice cream," he replied, "but we should be home in . . . maybe fifteen minutes?"

 _Oh god,_ she thought, heart pounding. _Fifteen minutes?_

"Sound good?"

 _No,_ she thought. This wasn't supposed to happen tonight. She and Michael were supposed to have more time together. The plan had been for him to leave sometime in the a.m., well before Max and Dylan would arrive home.

"Maria?"

"Oh, um . . ." She snapped herself back to it. "Yeah. Yeah, sounds great." She raked her hand through her hair, hoping his fifteen minutes wasn't an underestimation. She was going to need every single one of them. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

He barely had time to say, "See ya," before she ended the call and tossed her phone back onto the nightstand.

"Oh, shit," she swore, springing from the bed. "Michael!" She grabbed her shirt and panties off the floor and raced out to the kitchen, where she found him searching through the refrigerator, still without a stitch of clothing on. "Michael, you have to go," she said in a rush as she yanked on first her shirt, then her underwear.

He made a face. "What? Why?"

"Because Max is coming home early."

He shut the fridge, grunting, "When?"

"Like right now!" she said dramatically. "Or in fifteen minutes. Just get dressed!" They really didn't have time to stand there talking about it.

He looked completely disappointed, but much to her relief, he didn't waste any time. "Dammit," he muttered, rushing back into the bedroom.

She surveyed the kitchen, appalled by what a mess it was. Doing dishes hadn't exactly been a huge priority this weekend, even though they'd both done plenty of eating to keep their energy levels up. "Make sure you don't leave anything!" she called after him as she swiped all of their dishes into the left side of the sink and turned on the water. Maybe she could be _doing_ dishes when Max came home. That would look nice and normal, wouldn't it?

While the sink was filling up, she made an effort to fix the mess they'd created in the living room. When you were doing it pretty much anywhere and everywhere you could, things tended to get moved all around. She didn't want it to look like a disaster when Max came home. She just wanted it to look . . . like it always looked. Like nothing unusual had gone on this weekend. Like there was nothing to hide, even though there was.

"Why the hell's he comin' home early?" she heard Michael bark from the bedroom.

"I don't know, he just is," she yelled back, darting back into the kitchen long enough to turn off the water when the sink was brimming. "Are you hurrying?" she called. No response. "Michael!" she yelped, stomping down the hall and back into the bedroom.

When she got in there, he was dressed, but he was just sort of standing next to the bed, his bag halfway packed. Not moving. Not hurrying at all. He looked almost devastated, in a way, that their time together this weekend was being cut a few hours short.

"Get your stuff," she told him.

"We're supposed to . . ." He flapped his arms against his sides. "We're supposed to have another night."

She sighed, similarly disappointed. "I know." As selfish and wrong as it was, she would have loved more time, more time to just fade into him and get lost in his kisses, his touches. But as luck would have it, that just wasn't in the cards tonight. "Hurry, Michael," she whimpered, not sure how she would explain it to Max if he came home and found that she wasn't alone.

He finally kicked it into high gear then, rummaging all around the bedroom for anything that belonged to him. Boxers. Socks. His wallet, his phone. She made sure to get everything out of the bathroom, things like his deodorant and his toothbrush. There couldn't be one single clue that he'd been over there. Not one thing.

"Alright, I think I got everything," he proclaimed finally, zipping up his bag.

"Uh, wait," she said, spotting something wicked obvious. She took the lube off the nightstand and tossed it to him.

"Oh, right," he said, slipping that in with the rest of his stuff. "Now I got everything."

"Okay, you really have to go then," she said, wondering how much time had already passed. Maybe just five minutes? Maybe ten? The longer it was, the more the butterflies rearranged her stomach.

"Am I gonna see you tomorrow?" he asked.

"Maybe, I don't know. Just go," she said, practically shoving him out into the hallway. From there, she basically had to shove him right out the front door, too. Obviously the fear of getting caught wasn't nearly as terrifying to him as it was to her.

"Wait," he said when he was out on the porch. He turned back around and gave her a quick kiss. "I love you."

"I know. But you have to leave."

Sighing frustratedly, he turned to do so, but he only took a couple steps before he turned back around one more time, came back to her, and gave her one more kiss. She couldn't even be mad at him for it, even though she was worried she'd see the headlights of Max's car any second.

Finally, he got in his own car and took off. She breathed a sigh of relief when she watched him drive down the road and disappear into the night. Crisis averted. Thank God she'd answered her phone this time. If she hadn't, Max probably would have walked in on the two of them. And then she would have had some major explaining to do.

With what little time she had left, she tried to make the bedroom look presentable. She made the bed quickly and sprayed an ample amount of air freshener, figuring it probably reeked of sex in there. She slid on a loose-fitting pair of jeans, dragged a brush through her hair, and then went into the kitchen to get a start on those dishes. She actually managed to get about half of them done before Max's car pulled into the driveway.

 _Okay, just be calm,_ she told herself. There was no need to freak out about anything. Michael was gone and Max was home, and even though that wasn't exactly what she'd pictured tonight . . . it was fine. Everything was fine.

The door opened, and in came Dylan with a big smile on his face. "Hey, Mom," he said.

"Hey, you! Come here." She dried off her hands, knelt down, and opened up her arms. He came running at her and gave her a big hug. "I missed you," she said, smiling at Max as he came in, carrying both his and Dylan's bags. He set them down by the door, kicked it shut with his foot, gave her a half wave, and lumbered into the living room.

"Did you have fun?" Maria asked Dylan, wiping some leftover ice cream off his cheek.

"Yeah. Gramma Amy gave me lots of stuff," he boasted.

"Alien stuff?" she guessed.

"Yeah! It's _awesome_."

"Oh, I'm sure." They had plenty of alien junk in their house, all of it gifted to them by her mother. "Hey, why don't you go unpack some of it, okay?"

"Okay," he said, toddling over to grab a backpack in the shape of an alien head. "You gotta come look."

"Oh, I will, in a minute," she promised him, motioning for him to head into his room. Once he'd scampered off, she headed into the living room to join Max, who had flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV.

"Hey," she said, wondering why he looked so . . . out of it.

"Hey," he said, barely glancing up at her.

She frowned. "You alright? You seem . . . tired or something."

"I am," he said, slumping lower on the couch. "Long day."

"Was it a good weekend, though?" she asked, squeezing in beside him. He was so sprawled out that there was barely any room for her on the cushion.

"Yeah, it was nice," he said. "My mom spoiled me; your mom spoiled Dylan."

"Hmm." That was . . . expected. Her mom had always loved her grandchild more than her actual child, and despite everything he'd done in the past, Max's mom had never given up on him. "I'm glad you guys were able to go."

"Yeah," he said. "Too bad you were sick, otherwise you could've gone with us."

She tried not to tense up and continued the lie. "Yeah, I was just too under the weather."

"But at least you're feelin' better now," he said, finally looking at her. "This whole weekend must've done you some good."

 _Oh, if you only knew,_ she thought. "Yeah, it did." Her body felt amazing right now, like she'd just done some major workouts this weekend.

"You didn't get lonely, did you?" he asked.

"No." She'd had all the company she'd wanted this weekend. But she didn't want to hurt his feelings, so she quickly added, "But, I mean, I missed you, obviously."

"Obviously," he echoed. "Well . . ." He sat up straighter, handed her the remote, and announced, "I think I'm gonna go to bed."

"Are you sure? It's kinda early," she pointed out.

"Yeah, I'm tired, though." He stood up, stretched, then bent down and kissed the top of her head. "Goodnight, Maria."

"Goodnight," she said, wishing he'd stay out there for a while longer. Maybe that would have given her the chance to . . . change the sheets or something. Not that that would erase what had happened there.

She supposed the sheets didn't really matter. Neither did the dishes, nor her non-existent illness that she'd miraculously recovered from. Everything that had happened between her and Michael this weekend was still their little secret.

...

Michael was pissed off when he got home. Sure, his weekend with Maria had only been cut a few hours short, but when your relationship was technically an illegitimate one, a few hours felt like a long time.

His phone started ringing right when he set his bag down, and part of him didn't even want to answer it. But when he saw that it was his mom calling, he decided to. "Hey, Mom," he said as he shuffled towards the bed.

"Well, finally you pick up," she said. "I've tried calling about five times today."

"Yeah, I shut my phone off this weekend," he explained.

"The whole weekend?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I was busy," he replied, sitting down on the foot of his bed. He caught sight of the stack of books atop his desk, knowing he still had a lot of work to do before the end of the semester, and he added on, "Studying," just to make her feel better.

"Oh, well, that's good then," she said. "Well, I was just trying to get a hold of you because Nicholas and Tina had their first fight last night, and he said he wouldn't mind talking to you."

"To me?" Michael made a face, trying to understand that. "Why?"

"Well, you know, he really looks up to you," his mom told him.

Michael snorted at the irony of that. "Maybe he shouldn't," he muttered. Nicholas looked up to Michael Guerin the teen dad, not Michael Guerin the college cheater.

"You're a better role model than you think you are, Michael," his mom assured him, similarly disillusioned, "and Nicholas needs that."

He sighed, shaking his head, knowing that wasn't true. And if she knew everything about what he'd been up to this weekend, she'd know it, too. He didn't deserve to be anyone's role model.

...

Maria DeLuca was one hell of an actress. She went through all the motions that evening as though nothing were wrong. She put Dylan to bed, showered, and then crawled under the covers next to Max with no hesitance whatsoever. If he didn't already know better, he would have assumed nothing was wrong.

Maybe music was the wrong career choice. Perhaps the stage was calling her name, because she was playing the part perfectly. Doting mother, devoted girlfriend.

What a load of bullshit.

She seemed to fall asleep easily, but he had no unrealistic notions of going to bed that night. How could he? How could he possibly fall asleep in the same bed where he'd caught her and Michael together? Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could do was picture what he'd seen, the two of them lying naked there together. And when he pictured that . . . well, then it just got even more unpleasant. Because he pictured them fucking, and he wondered how long they'd been doing it. Just how long had she been playing him for a fool? How long had he believed her lies?

 _God_. He hated it whenever someone or something got the best of him.

When he got up in the middle of the night to go lie on the couch, she didn't even budge, didn't seem to notice him go at all. It was only when he got out there that he was able to nod off for an hour or so. But before he knew it, the alarm on his cell phone was ringing shrilly, a harsh reminder that it was Monday morning, and he had a whole week of work to look forward to.

 _What's Maria looking forward to?_ he wondered bitterly as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. _More sex with Michael?_

Since she seemed content to keep acting as if nothing were wrong, he resigned himself to doing the same. He sat at the kitchen table that morning with her and Dylan and made casual conversation. Nothing major. Mostly just talk about what Dylan was doing at school this week, which wasn't much.

When Dylan went back into his room to get dressed for school, Max took the opportunity to ask Maria, "So what time are you gonna be home tonight?"

"Um, early, I think," she said, much to his surprise. "I should be able to go pick Dylan up from school."

"Should be?" he echoed.

She pushed her chair back and stood up, starting to clear the plates off the table. "Yeah, I don't have to work, so . . ."

 _Work._ He scoffed at that inwardly. So much 'work' she'd been doing lately. How had he ever fallen for that flimsy excuse?

God, he felt like such an idiot, and he knew he wasn't one. But why the hell had he been so eager to believe every damn word that had come out of her mouth? Why had he been so trusting of her, even when he'd been suspicious of Michael? Since when was he such a spineless chump that it was so easy for people to walk all over him and get him to believe shit that wasn't true?

The old Max would have seen through all her lies right from the start. The old Max would have been shrewd enough to call her on it. Not that he wanted to be the old Max again, but . . .

Maybe just for a second or two, it would have been nice.

Maria left before him to take Dylan to school, and once she was gone, he decided to call in sick to work. Because there were more important things to do. Besides, he was so distracted, he wouldn't have been much of an asset to the crew today anyway. He didn't want to be there when she got home, though— _if_ she came home—so he went out for a drive, hoping it would clear his head.

It didn't.

It dawned on him as he was driving aimlessly that his sister had been right all along. Isabel, of all people, was the one he should have listened to. She'd tried to warn him that this whole thing would blow up in his face, that he'd regret trying to be so open-minded and understanding. She'd told him all along that Michael and Maria would end up back together, and he hadn't believed her. Because he'd believed Maria. He'd _trusted_ her. Because that was what nice guys did, and that was what he'd been trying so hard to be. A nice fucking guy.

Dammit. No wonder nice guys always finished last.

He grew evermore furious with himself as he drove onto campus. Michael and Maria were the type of people who, if you gave them an inch, they'd take a mile. And he'd _definitely_ given them an inch, on more than one occasion. It all seemed so clear now, but at the time, it'd been a greyer area. He thought he'd been doing the right thing by letting them work together, take a class together, spend all sorts of time together. All in the name of good old-fashioned friendship.

It'd never been a friendship, though, had it? Not between any of them. Hell, he and Michael were always going to be enemies, and Michael and Maria . . . well, they were always going to be lovers.

She _loved_ him. Still. And he hated her for that.

Barely even conscious of what he was doing, he parked in an open spot close to the Vidorra suites complex, got out, and trudged inside. Mind still racing, he rode the elevator up to the third floor and stormed down the hallway. _To hell with this,_ he growled internally, sick of feeling sorry for himself. He wasn't going to let them get away with this any longer. He was going to do what he should have done months ago when Michael charged out of that office at the school and beat the crap out of him in front of his own son: He was going to hit back.

Fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight, he stopped in front of Michael's apartment. He would have loved to have just kicked the door in, but a loud knock would have to do.

He raised his right fist, poised to slam it against the door. But he stopped himself just short, reconsidering when he heard laughter coming from inside.

Michael's laughter. _Maria's_ laughter. She was there right now, sneaking in more time with him. Thinking that her dearly devoted boyfriend was still completely oblivious to it. Or perhaps not thinking of him at all.

Max slowly lowered his hand, blinking back tears that made him feel weak. The laughter inside intensified. In a way, he almost didn't even recognize the sound, because she never laughed like that with him. Never. It made him wonder what else she did with Michael that she never did with him.

Well . . . so they were having an affair. Clearly. What he'd stumbled upon last night wasn't just some one-night tryst. Who knew how long they'd been going at it behind his back? Who knew how much time she actually spent over here under the guise of going to class or going to work? All he knew was that it infuriated him and broke his heart all at the same time. The furious part of him wanted to barge right in there and tell them both to go to hell. But the heartbroken part didn't even have the strength for it.

And there was a third part of him, too, a part that was just barely managing to hold onto a few shreds of logic. That part of him knew it was better to just walk away and let them continue on inside that apartment; so that was exactly what he did. While they were laughing and kissing and screwing their brains out, he could figure out what to do next. Hopefully it would be something they never saw coming.

...

 _Adorable,_ Michael thought as Maria dashed all around his apartment with only the sheet from his bed around her. She was being very playful and flirty, and he loved it. Because she just looked so damn pretty.

"You can't catch me," she teased, backing up towards his bed.

"Wanna bet?" he challenged, slowly approaching her.

She grinned, doing a little twirl. "I'm too fast," she said.

"Oh, please." Not only was he a guy, but he was an athletic guy. If he wanted to catch her, he could do so blindfolded with both his hands tied behind his back. No problem at all.

"Come get me then," she taunted, struggling to keep the sheet up around her.

"I will." He paused briefly to step out of his boxers and kick them aside. "Don't need anything gettin' in the way."

Eyes locked onto his, she opened the sheet and let it fall from her body. His fingers itched with the second every glorious, naked curve of her body came into view, and he lunged forward. To her credit, though, she did manage to slip to the side and get past him, darting back into the living room. He quickly ran back after her, though, and it only took him a few steps to grab hold of her waist and pull her smaller frame to him.

"Michael!" she yelped, giggling as he fell with her onto the couch. "Geez, you don't have to tackle me!"

"Sexiest tackle I've ever been a part of." He smirked and sat up so he could get a better look at her, her kiss-swollen lips, perfect breasts, flat stomach. Then he pulled down on her legs, bringing her lower body closer to his. She spread her legs instinctively, and he moved in between them, lying down on top of her, holding himself up on his forearms.

"Well, you caught me," she said.

"Always do." He kissed her, wondering if she could still taste herself on his lips. "Now what am I gonna do with you?"

"Hmm . . ." She trailed one of her hands in between their bodies and stroked his length suggestively. "Mmm."

"You can't get enough, can you?" he teased, grinning at her appreciatively.

"I can't help it," she said, removing her hand as a blush crept up to her cheeks. "It feels so good."

"Hey, nothin' wrong with it." He bent forward, pressing a hot, sucking kiss to the side of her neck. "It's healthy." He licked at her skin a few times, then lifted his head and looked down at her again. "It's just the id at work."

"The id?" she echoed.

"Yeah."

"What's that?"

"It's like . . . the part of you that doesn't care about right or wrong, good or bad," he explained, starting to feel his own id kick into overdrive. "The id just wants what it wants. So what do you want, Maria?"

She rubbed her legs against his sides wantonly, lifting her hips a bit to brush against his erection. "I want you," she moaned lustfully.

He brought his mouth down next to hers, his lips moving against her when he whispered, "Then nothing else matters." And then he was kissing her again, his tongue diving into her mouth this time, dipping in and out, mimicking what about to happen between her legs.


	72. Chapter 72

Max dipped his paintbrush into the can of white paint and dragged it across his wooden porch railing, covering up some of the chips in the existing coat of paint. It was a mind-numbing task, painting any part of a house, nothing at all like painting an artistic masterpiece. But it was something to do. Something to occupy the time.

Gradually, as his porch railing started to get whiter and whiter, his thoughts started to get louder and louder. It didn't matter how much he tried to make his brain blank; it just kept firing out all sorts of questions, impulses, and even memories.

...

" _There. I think I'm done." Max stepped back from the wall, surveying his work. The back wall of Maria's living room was now a light brown instead of eggshell white._

" _Hey, that looks really good," she complimented. "Way better than before."_

" _Yeah, a little accent wall never hurt anyone," he said, setting his brush down on top of the paint can lid. "I didn't even know I could paint."_

" _Well, you're good at a lot of stuff," she told him._

" _A man of many talents, huh?" He laughed lightly, struggling to think of what those talents were. Since moving to Houston, he'd worked a variety of crappy jobs, each one with slightly worse pay than the last. Maybe it was time to get into the house painting business. Why not, right? It wasn't like he'd be going to law school anytime soon._

" _Anyway . . ." He brushed his hands off on the back of his jeans. "Should be dry by the time Dylan wakes up."_

" _Thanks for doing this, Max," she said, smiling at him appreciatively._

" _No problem." Any excuse to spend time with her was a good one . . . not that he needed an excuse anymore. She seemed to have gotten pretty used to having him around. "Well . . ." He cleared his throat, looking over his work one more time. "You probably wanna get some sleep, so I can head out."_

" _Oh, I'm not really that tired," she assured him quickly._

" _Not tired, huh?" He liked the sound of that._

" _Nope." She moved in close to him, draping her arms over his shoulders._

" _So you want me to stay?" he surmised, putting his hands on her waist._

" _Yeah, you can stay a while," she offered coyly._

" _Yeah?" Smirking, he leaned down and kissed her, happy that she didn't want him to go. Because he didn't want to leave._

" _Actually . . ." she said as she pulled away, "I was thinking maybe you can . . ._ stay _stay. Like on a more permanent basis. You know what I mean?"_

 _His eyebrows shot upward in surprise. "You want me to move in with you?"_

 _She smiled again. "Yeah, I do. I mean, if you want to." She rubbed his shoulders, looking at his chest when she spoke. "We're back together, Dylan's totally used to having you around, and you spend a lot of time over here anyway, so . . ." Her eyes flittered back up to look at him, as if she were gauging his reaction._

" _Wow," was all he managed._

 _Immediately, she frowned. "Do you not want to?"_

" _No, I do," he insisted. "This just . . . I don't know. It feels like a really big deal." They'd never lived together before, and a year ago, the very thought of it would have sounded insane to her. Completely out of the realm of possibility. Now it seemed like a natural progression._

" _Well, you don't have to if you don't want to," she reiterated, averting her eyes._

" _Maria." He cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him. "I wanna move in with you." It would be nice to come home every night to a son and girlfriend rather than just his crappy studio apartment waiting for him. "You and Dylan are my family. You guys are the most important things in the world to me."_

 _She sighed contentedly. "Oh, I used to dream about you saying that."_

 _If only he'd been in the right mindset to say such a thing earlier, to make those dreams come true a few years ago. He regretted that it had taken him so long, but better late than never. "Promise me we'll make this work," he entreated, cherishing the thought of having something in his life that_ didn't _go to hell for once. "I love what we have goin' right now, you and me and Dylan. Promise me I'll never lose that."_

 _Even though he wasn't asking for her hand in marriage or anything like that, he still thought she might be a little freaked out. He was, after all, asking her to make a long-term commitment. But she didn't look spooked in the slightest, maybe because she was asking the same commitment from him by inviting him to move in. "I promise," she said, her expression a certain, sincere one._

 _He smiled and leaned in to kiss her again, hoping he knew how grateful he was that she'd given him a second chance._

...

Max didn't even realize he was gripping the porch railing so tightly until he looked down at his hands and saw fresh white paint covering them both. He must've gotten . . . lost in thought.

 _My family,_ he thought. That was what made this so devastating. Sure, he loved Maria, but _just_ losing her wouldn't have been so hard. She wasn't the only girl he'd ever loved, and he knew he could move on from her if he had to. But he'd never move on from Dylan.

He had a horrible feeling he was going to lose his son over this. Whenever Maria finally decided she'd had enough of having an affair, whenever she decided it was the right time to break up with him . . Dylan would stay with her. Dylan had _always_ been with her. She was his mom.

But he was his dad. _Not_ Michael.

He dreaded the thought of any future where Dylan thought of Michael as his father. But that was what was going to happen, wasn't it? Unless he did something to stop it.

Max curled his fingers up against his palm, smearing around the already messy paint. The wheels of his mind worked into overdrive, and he thought through his options.

So he was going to lose Maria. Oh, well. To hell with her.

That didn't mean he had to lose Dylan, too.

...

Isabel barely glanced up at Jesse when he came to stand in the doorway of her bedroom. Maybe if she pretended she didn't notice him, he'd go away.

No such luck. "Isabel, I need to talk to you," he declared.

"I'm busy right now," she told him as her fingers typed on her laptop at a feverish pace. The creativity was flowing, so she had to write while she had the inspiration and the motivation. For all she knew, she could be tapped out in no time.

Jesse came into the room, sat down on the bed, and pushed the screen of her computer closed.

"I was writing," she said, not expecting him to understand why that might be important to her. There was a lot that Jesse didn't understand.

"This is serious," he said, looking her right in the eye.

She sighed, setting her laptop aside. "Let me guess: My website's in trouble because I'm not edgy enough."

He made a face, as if he hadn't expected her to already know.

"Courtney warned me we'd be having this conversation," she explained.

"Well, that's it, in a nutshell," he confirmed. "You're losing subscribers, so the site's losing money. Fast."

"Sounds dire," she muttered sarcastically.

"It is," he insisted. "This is our business. It's part of our income."

"But I'm sure Courtney's site's doing just fine." As long as they had her as a source of income, they'd be fine financially. Right?

"Courtney's willing to go outside her comfort zone, to push the envelope," Jesse said. "So yeah, her site's doin' fine." He gave her a pointed look, as though he were trying to urge her to go outside _her_ comfort zone without directly saying it.

"Well, sorry, but there are just some lines I won't cross," she stated firmly. The next logical step in her porn career was probably a gangbang, and there was not one part of her that felt on board for that.

"I need you to reconsider, Isabel," he said softly. "Or else I'll have to shut the site down."

"So shut it down. I don't care." Maybe it would be nice for it to just be gone. Not that the videos would ever totally disappear. No, they were out there in cyberspace forever, and she'd accepted that a long time ago. But it would be nice to not have to make any new ones.

"This is your career, Isabel," Jesse kept on arguing.

"It's not the career I was meant to have."

"You can't just quit, though."

"Why not?" she challenged. She hadn't ever signed any contract with Jesse. What she did for him was strictly voluntary.

"It's _your_ site," he said emphatically. "It's Naughty Izzy. Without you, it's nothing. You're the product, Isabel."

"Product?" she echoed, mortified. Did he even realize how objectifying that was? "And here I thought I was your girlfriend." She glared at him accusatorily, waiting for him to backtrack, maybe try to phrase that differently, to assure her that he thought of her as a person and not a thing. But he never did.

She huffed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Nice to know what you really think of me." Seizing her computer, she stomped out of the room to find someplace else to write. In light of this conversation, even more ideas for her novel were coming to mind.

...

Around 3:30 that afternoon, Alan showed up at Max's door. He'd called him over lunch and asked him to stop by after work. Because he needed to talk to him about something. Something important.

"Hey, man," Alan said as he shuffled inside. "Enjoy your day off?"

"Not really," Max grumbled, stepping aside. "Thanks for comin' by." After a long day on site, Alan had probably wanted to just go home. But the guy was becoming a decent friend, so it really didn't surprise Max that he'd shown up.

"Yeah, no problem." Alan took off his shoes, even though that wasn't necessary in this house, and followed Max into the living room. "So what's up?" he asked eagerly. "Is it Liz? Please tell me she wants to go out with me again."

Max shot him an apologetic look.

"Dammit," Alan swore. "Oh, well. She's probably too hot for me anyway." His eyes lit up suddenly then, as if inspiration had struck. "Hey, what about your sister?" He grinned hopefully. "Do you think she'd be into me?"

"Probably not," Max muttered. "You don't wanna date her anyway."

"Oh, I think I do," Alan insisted.

"Trust me, you don't." The words _train wreck_ came to mind.

Alan flopped down on the couch, sighing. "Alright, well, clearly you didn't invite me over here to propagate _my_ love life. So I can only assume this has to do with yours."

"More or less." Did he even have a love life anymore? Clearly Maria didn't really _love_ him, so . . . what exactly were they even doing together? Not fucking, that was for sure, because it'd been a hell of a long time since he'd gotten any.

"Gonna pop the question?" Alan asked. "Need some ideas on how to do it?"

Max laughed at that as he paced back and forth through the living room. "No. No, I think it's safe to say I'm not gonna pop the question." The sad fact was . . . he probably would have within the next few months if he hadn't learned the truth.

"Oh." Alan frowned. "What's the hold up, man? You guys already have a kid. Just go for it."

"I might," Max said, curling his hands into fists at his sides, "if she wasn't cheating on me."

"Wait . . . what?" Alan sputtered. "Cheating? Your girl's _cheating_ on you?"

It wasn't fun to say out loud, so he didn't want to say it again. But he did make sure to add, "With her ex-boyfriend, of all people."

" _What_?" Alan sounded shocked, even though he'd only met Maria a few times. "Shit, man. No way."

"I saw it with my own eyes."

"You mean you saw . . ." Alan trailed off and gestured wildly with his hands to indicate sex.

"No, they weren't . . ." He rolled his eyes. "But it was obvious they had. They were in bed together." He stopped near the hallway, glancing back to the closed bedroom door. "In _my_ bed," he growled, wishing he had the strength to go in there and just snap the whole damn headboard in half.

"No way, man," Alan said sympathetically. "Dude, that sucks. I'm sorry."

"No, it's . . . whatever," he dismissed, not in the mood for a pity party. He was done feeling sad about all this. From here on out, he was going to let the anger he was feeling work its magic. Because, in all honesty, he always got the most accomplished when he was pissed.

"You wanna go get a beer then?" Alan offered. "Hit the strip club? Anything?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you could put me in touch with your brother," Max replied.

"My brother?" Alan made a face. "Dave?"

"Yeah. Didn't you once tell me that he's a private investigator?"

"Uh . . ." Alan squirmed a bit. "Not legally, per se. But yeah, he's done some work for a few people. Why?"

"Because . . ." Max crossed his arms over his chest and swallowed hard. "I have a problem that needs investigating."

Alan frowned. "Right, but . . . you already know she's cheating on you. So why do you need Dave?"

"Because I need proof," Max explained. "Photos, videos, that sort of thing. You think Dave could get that for me?"

Alan stood up slowly, looking unsure. "I guess so," he said. "But what're you gonna do with it, Max?"

He smirked, delighting in the thoughts of everything he was planning. "I'm gonna do what any good lawyer would do," he said, "and build a case against her."

"And then what?" Alan probed.

Well, that was the fun part, wasn't it? The outcome. "I'm gonna bring the bitch down," he growled, a newfound determination coursing through his veins.

...

Even though she felt so comfortable and so warm, Maria slowly opened her eyes. It didn't feel strange to wake up in Michael's bed anymore, nor did it feel alarming to be lying next to him. What _was_ alarming, though, were the three bright red numbers on the bedside clock. 5:30.

"Oh my god," she gasped, sitting up quickly. "Michael, is that clock right?"

He groaned, reluctantly stirring. "What?"

" _Oh_ my god," she fretted, shooting to her feet. "I was supposed to pick Dylan up from school two hours ago." She rifled through the various pieces of clothing scattered on the floor for the ones that belonged to her. "I can't believe we fell asleep."

He stretched out his arms and legs, grinning. "Guess we wore ourselves out."

"This isn't funny!" she hissed, yanking on her underwear. "God, I'm such an idiot." What kind of mother just _forgot_ to go pick up her son? Hopefully somebody was still waiting there with them, the principal or maybe the counselor. Surely they wouldn't just leave him alone there, right? They couldn't.

"Maria, wait," Michael said, reaching out for her.

"I can't wait. I'm already late." Frantically, she tugged on the rest of her clothes, stumbling out the door with her shoes in her hands instead of on her feet.

...

By the time Maria got home, Max already had dinner prepared. Nothing fancy, just macaroni and cheese out of the box. One of Dylan's favorites.

She looked like a worried mess when she burst through the door, and he wondered if she was worried about Dylan or worried about what lie she was going to tell to explain this one.

"Max," she said, sounding out of breath. "I'm so sorry. I don't even know what happened."

"Lost track of time, huh?" He stirred the cheesy noodles, then spooned a small bite out of the pan and taste-tested it. "The school called me around 4:00, so we've been home for a while."

"Is he mad at me?" she asked.

"No." _But I am,_ Max thought. He couldn't show it, though. Outwardly, it had to seem as if it were no big deal. Because Maria still expected him to be a nice, understanding guy. About everything. If he didn't maintain that persona, she'd know something was up.

"Is he okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, he's fine. He's playing in his room right now."

Sighing regretfully, she took off her shoes and dropped her purse down on the floor. "I just . . . I guess I just totally spaced it off," she said.

"I'm sure you were busy today," he said, taking three plates out of the cabinets. _Busy getting fucked._

"That's no excuse," she said. "I don't know, I guess I just had it in my head that you were picking him up or something . . . I don't even know."

"Don't worry about it," Max said. "He's home. That's all that matters."

"I guess so," she mumbled. "I'm really sorry."

He wanted to roll his eyes at that, but he couldn't. It was a half-assed apology that paled in comparison to the apology both he and Dylan _really_ deserved. But for now it would have to do. "Maybe you should go say somethin' to him," he suggested. "I think he was curious about where you were."

"Okay," she said, stopping in the kitchen first to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Her lips on his skin felt like acid.

Once she'd slipped into Dylan's room, Max forgot about the macaroni and sauntered down the hallway to his own bedroom. He sat down at the computer and opened a document he'd just created today. Time for entry number one.

He typed the date, then a brief description of the incident. _Maria forgot to pick up Dylan at the school. School called me. I picked up Dylan instead around 4:15. Maria got home at 5:50._

Documentation was important. Women did it when they were trying to build a case against abusive husbands, so why not do it when you were trying to take down a cheating girlfriend? He smirked, then quickly saved the document in a locked folder, one that would require a password to open.

Hopefully there would be many more of these little entries, because they would start to add up. Surely the longer Maria was screwing Michael, the more irresponsible she would become. Which was great for him. The more she slacked off on her parenting, the better he looked in comparison. He'd document everything, every little mistake she made, every slip-up, and she'd have no fucking clue he was even doing it.

After shutting off the computer, he headed back out to the kitchen, putting on his happy face for a family dinner. Even though it was tempting to just confront Maria about her whereabouts today, he knew he couldn't. No, if he wanted to emerge from this whole fiasco with Dylan in his custody, then he had to be smart about this.

Luckily, it wasn't hard to outsmart Maria.


	73. Chapter 73

Alex's eyes got wide with anticipation when Isabel dropped a stack of papers on his desk. "Is this a sequel?" he asked.

"No, just another chapter," she replied proudly. "I may need to break it up a bit."

"Wow." He fanned through the pages, thoroughly impressed. "Someone's been feeling inspired lately."

"Someone's been feeling . . . restless lately," she confessed.

As someone who appreciated the English language, he couldn't help but note the interesting word choice. "Restless?"

"Yeah." She moved around a bit, shrugging. "I don't know. I just feel like . . . maybe it's time to write another chapter. Of . . . my life."

He sat up straighter, intrigued by the sound of that. "Meaning?"

"Meaning . . ." She trailed off, sighing. "I don't know. It's hard to say. But lately, I've just been thinking that I might . . ." She didn't finish the sentence.

"That you might what?" he prompted.

She smiled at him almost wistfully, and her voice was barley loud enough for him to hear. "Quit," she whispered. "The movies, the stripping . . . I might just be done with it."

 _Oh god,_ he thought, wanting to believe that. _Please._

"Do you think it's possible?" she asked. And it seemed as though his opinion really mattered to her.

"I think so," he said. Sure, she had a reputation nowadays, and maybe that might _always_ be her reputation. But there was still hope for her to be better. "I think you should, Isabel," he told her. "I mean, if nothin' else . . . it'd be a hell of an ending to your novel."

She smiled a bit, the first genuine smile he'd seen from her in a long time. "We'll see," she said, obviously still working through the decision in her mind.

 _We'll see,_ he thought, letting himself be hopeful for her. Just this once.

...

When Jake handed Michael a drawing, Michael wasn't even sure what to say at first. It was mostly just a piece of paper with scribbly lines on it, but for Jake, it was a huge accomplishment. Because it was . . . a gift. He was giving Michael a gift. And Jake didn't do that.

"Nice work, man," he told the little guy. "I love it. Thank you."

Jake didn't exactly smile, but at least he held up his right hand. Michael had been trying to teach him how to give a high-five. Even though it seemed like a basic social skill for someone Jake's age to have, he just didn't have it. But at least he was learning.

Michael gave him the high-five he was looking for just as Jake's mom got out of her car and started walking forward. "Hey, look who it is," he said. "Look who's here to get you."

Jake started to scamper towards her, but then he stopped, turned back around quickly, and wrapped his arms around Michael's legs, hugging him. He said something that _sort of_ sounded like goodbye. At the very least, it was more than just a scream.

"Well, look at that," Jake's mom remarked in astonishment as she approached. "That's incredible. The only other people he'll even touch are me and his dad."

"Well, he's my buddy," Michael said, patting Jake on the back.

"He sure is," his mother agreed. "I can't thank you enough, Michael. All of you who help him out . . . you don't get nearly enough credit. I know he's not an easy kid."

"He's a good kid, though," Michael put in. That was all that mattered.

"But he's challenging," Jake's mother reasserted. "And no one at his last school was up for the challenge. I'm so glad he's had you here."

It was a major compliment, one Michael hadn't quite been expecting. He didn't think he was doing anything monumental with Jake. He was just trying his best day by day. Some things worked, and other things didn't. But it was nice to know that his efforts didn't go unnoticed. "Thank you," he said gratefully.

"No, thank _you_ ," she said. "For what it's worth, I think you're in the right career field. You're really good with kids."

He smiled a bit.

"I wish there were more young people like you," she went on, "people willing to just step up and help. It's nice to see that your generation isn't completely devoid of nice, respectable guys."

He struggled to keep his smile in place as those words sunk in. _Nice? Respectable?_ Maybe that was how he seemed to her, but in reality . . . was he either of those things? Did nice, respectable guys do the things he was doing behind closed doors?

When he got home, he didn't even try to be nice and respectable. Maria was already there, waiting for him. He yanked off his shirt as he crossed the room, then swept her up in his arms and scrunched her top up beneath his fingertips, hands clawing at her back, her shoulder blades. Needing to feel her. Every inch of her.

They were naked in no time.

He sure as hell wasn't nice when he tossed her onto the bed. Sure as hell wasn't respectable when he crawled on top of her. Frantically, his hands squeezed and caressed her body. Her breasts, her thighs, her waist. Her skin felt so hot against his. So perfect.

"Let me eat your pussy," he breathed out in between kisses. Nice guys didn't say that. At least not to girls who already had a boyfriend.

When she maneuvered herself up onto all fours, he got behind her and bent down to plunge his tongue into her core. They probably didn't have time for this, but he just couldn't resist. He had to get a taste. And it tasted so damn good.

Once she'd already cum once, he flipped her over onto her back again, pulling her legs open wide, kneeling in between them. He held his cock with one hand, rubbing it along her slick folds. "You want it?" he growled low in his throat.

She nodded dazedly. Yeah, she wanted it.

A nice, respectable guy would have taken the time to make love to this girl. But time wasn't on their side tonight, not when she had to be home for dinner.

So he screwed her. Hard. Fast. Didn't worry about being gentle. Shot his load into her and wanted more even then.

Collapsing atop her, he murmured, "I can't stop fucking you," as his hips continued to thrust forward on their own accord.

She moaned and tightened her legs around him, digging her fingernails into his back. She couldn't stop, either.

A nice, respectable guy wouldn't have had to worry about stopping. A nice, respectable guy wouldn't have started any of this in the first place.

...

"Michael? Michael?"

Snapping himself out his thoughts, Michael jerked his head back towards his friend. "Huh? What?"

Kyle held Michael's overly large psychology textbook open, giving him a curious look. "Are you even here right now?"

"Yeah." Physically, at least. But his mind had gone somewhere else for a while there. It was just so damn hard to think about psychology when you were still coming down off an afternoon sex high.

"Come on, man, you've got finals in a few weeks," Kyle reminded him, "and let's be honest, you're not ready."

"That's why I'm studying," he pointed out.

"You're not even paying attention," Kyle snapped, clearly growing impatient. They'd been at this for about an hour already, and even Michael knew they hadn't gotten much accomplished.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'll do better." He could buckle down. Kyle had been nice enough to agree to help him out, after all. He shouldn't waste his time. He _couldn't_ , not when Tess would be home in half an hour. Then he'd have to vacate the premise on account of . . . well, her hatred for him.

"Man, you gotta make this a priority, you know," Kyle said, sounding a bit like the high school version of himself. "Aren't your grades still . . . pretty bad?"

They were in the shitter . . . but they could still go up before the end of the semester. "They're not great," he admitted, downplaying the severity of the situation.

"You gonna lose your scholarships?"

Michael sighed. "Hope not."

Kyle frowned. "Man, what happened to you this semester? Why'd you slack off again?"

There was no excuse, but he tried to come up with one anyway. "I kinda had a lot goin' on. I got suspended. My sister had a baby." Lowering his head, he mumbled, ashamed, "I cheated on my girlfriend."

"Yeah, somethin' tells me she'll do just fine on her finals, though."

 _Guess she'll finally have a higher GPA than me,_ Michael thought. Good for her. She deserved it.

"Look, I'm not sayin' you haven't had a lot to deal with this semester," Kyle acknowledged, flipping to the next page of the textbook, "but . . . you have to focus now. Alright? Focus on what's important."

 _Focus?_ Michael thought. Was that even possible anymore? He understood what Kyle was saying, but Kyle didn't understand why he was so distracted. These days, when he thought of what was important to him . . . all he thought of was Maria.

...

It wasn't hard to track Maria's boss down. He lived in the same building as Michael, down on the first floor. The chick working the front desk directed Max to his room, and fortunately, he was home.

"Max, hey there," Brody greeted pleasantly when he opened the door.

"Hey," Max returned. "Sorry to just stop by. I'm here for Maria."

"Maria," Brody echoed curiously. "Maria's not here."

Max chuckled. _No, of course not,_ he thought bitterly. _Because she's with Michael._ "Actually, I'm here for her schedule," he elaborated. "She lost her calendar for the rest of this month and for May, and I told her I'd swing by and pick up another copy. I think she's kinda embarrassed."

"Oh, I always make plenty of extra copies," Brody said as he headed over to his desk. "Seems like everyone loses theirs." He rifled through a few stacks of papers, then found exactly what Max needed. "There you go," he said, handing both the April and May calendars over.

"Thanks," Max said. This would help a lot.

That night, when Maria and Dylan were both already fast asleep, he stayed up to get some work done. Not the kind of work that would pay anything, but . . . well, it would all pay off in the long run.

Financially, they weren't the most organized couple. They had a huge box where they stashed all their bills and records, and it was a mess. He took it out into the living room and sifted through it for copies of her most recent paychecks. She got paid every other week, and since she was paid by the hour, he figured it might come with some documentation of just how many hours she'd worked. A timesheet. Something.

After what felt like forever, he finally found what he was looking for. There it was in black and white, proof of the hours she'd worked for these first two weeks of April. And it definitely didn't add up to all the late nights she claimed to be having. There was no overtime pay, no evening hours where she'd filled in for someone else. There were only a few hours in the afternoons, and that wasn't even every day of the week.

Carefully, quietly, he put the lid back on the box and carried it back into the bedroom, stashing it back in their closet. He then unplugged the laptop and took it out into the living room. Maria stirred but didn't wake up.

He sat in darkness, letting the computer screen illuminate the room. He worked well into the night documenting everything he could, thinking back to all the late nights she'd had, delighting in just how quickly they were adding up.

 _March 3. Worked late,_ he typed. _March 5. Worked late._

It got better when he got into April, because he had both her work schedule calendar and her timesheet to refer to.

 _April 2. Worked late. Records indicate otherwise._

A smile crept to his lips as he kept typing the same thing over and over again.

 _Records indicate otherwise._

His only regret about the way he was documenting this was that he hadn't started sooner. Maybe if he hadn't been such a sucker, he would have.

Around 5:00 that morning, just as he was getting close to finishing up, his phone rang. He didn't have the number stored as a contact, but he recognized it. For a few days now, he'd been waiting to see it appear on the screen.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"Max, this is Dave. Alan's brother."

Max quickly saved the document, knowing the proof he was about to get was a hell of a lot more damning. "Got anything for me?" he asked.

"Oh, I got a lot," Dave assured him. "Wanna meet up today?"

Max grinned, eagerly anticipating what evidence his investigator had collected for him. "Absolutely."

...

Something smelled good when Isabel traipsed downstairs. Here she'd been resigned to a typical breakfast of cereal and toast, but Jesse appeared to be making omelets instead. He was all smiles when he saw her. "Good morning, beautiful," he said. "I don't know how you manage to look so stunning first thing in the morning."

 _Beautiful? Stunning?_ Oh, he was really laying it on thick, wasn't he? She had on an old, ratty t-shirt and plaid sweatpants for pajamas, and her hair wasn't even combed yet. "Jesse . . . save it," she told him. "All the compliments in the world aren't gonna get me to change my mind."

"About what?" he asked. As though he didn't already know.

"About the website," she said, leaning back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. "I'm not gonna push the boundaries any further than we already have. So if that's not enough to keep the site running then . . . well, I guess you'll just have to shut it down."

He sighed heavily, clearly disappointed. "You're more than a product, Isabel," he assured her. "I didn't mean to upset you when I said that the other day."

"Whatever, I'm over it," she dismissed. "But the decision's still the same." It felt weird to lay down the law with Jesse, to be the one making the decision, because he was such a dominant force in their relationship. But in a way . . . it felt good.

"So we're done then?" he summarized.

"Done?" she echoed, suddenly a bit fearful. Maybe Jesse wasn't the world's greatest boyfriend, but she wasn't trying to break up with him or anything. He was a big part of her life. Not only was she dating him, but she was living with him. He was sort of . . . all she had, as pathetic as that was.

"With filming," he added.

"Oh. Yeah. Done with that."

"And the website . . . I'll just have to shut it down."

"Right." She savored the thought of it but tried to downplay her excitement. No more videos. No more racy photo shoots. No more stripteases at birthday parties and bachelor parties. Just freedom. Sweet, glorious freedom.

"Well, I guess I can respect that," he said.

"Really?" She hadn't expected him to.

"Yeah. It's your body, your life." He shrugged, turning down the heat on an omelet that was almost done. "Can I ask why, though?"

"Why?" Wasn't it obvious? It wasn't fun for her. It never had been.

"Yeah, I mean . . . why throw it all away?"

She grunted, not exactly sure what she was throwing away. Money, sure, but there were other ways to make money. She'd get a real job if she had to. Waitressing or something.

"Jesse . . . I just want out," she explained. "I want out of it. I don't think I ever really wanted in."

"You did, though," he insisted. "You know you did."

"Yeah, maybe back when I was in . . . a dark place." She shook her head, realizing that she'd never gotten out of that dark place. She'd stepped into it back in high school after Michael had cheated on her, and she'd never emerged. Everything for the past three years had just been . . . dark. So dark. "I'm just tired of it," she admitted. "I don't wanna be Naughty Izzy anymore. I wanna be someone."

"You are someone," he assured her, stroking her cheek.

"Someone better." She had to believe it wasn't too late to strive for that.

"I understand," he said, rubbing her shoulders. "Come here." He pulled her into an embrace, the warm, secure kind.

She breathed a sigh of relief, surprised but grateful that he was being so empathetic. This had definitely gone better than she'd anticipated. Hopefully it was a sign of good things to come.

...

Max made arrangements to meet Dave at a coffee shop right off of campus. It wasn't hard to spot him, even though he'd only spoken to him over the phone and never met him face to face until now. He was the guy with the big manila envelope full of photos.

"Thanks for meeting me," Max said as he took a seat next to him at the table. Dave had already ordered him a coffee, and he took a sip just to be polite. But caffeine wasn't his thing, especially not when he was already feeling so damn wired.

"I think you'll be pleased with what I brought you," Dave said, discreetly sliding the envelope across the table. It was thicker than Max had even anticipated.

"This is over four days?" he said, amazed that Michael and Maria could be _that_ ridiculously horny.

"Three days, actually," Dave corrected. "You've got yourself one frisky little girlfriend there."

"Yeah, well . . . she's not frisky with me," Max muttered, opening up the envelope. He took the first few photos out, and they weren't as incriminating as he'd hoped. It was just Michael and Maria sitting in class together, a little closer than they should have, perhaps, but not necessarily doing anything wrong. He shot Dave a sharp look and said, "Tell me you got more than this."

Dave smirked. "Oh, trust me, I did."

When Max pulled out the next few photos, he felt significantly more . . . jilted. It was like seeing the storyboard of a movie. First was a photo of Maria standing outside the door to Michael's apartment, then a photo of him opening it. In the next, they were both looking out into the hallway suspiciously, as if to ensure that no one was watching, and then . . . well, then they started kissing. The photos stopped once the apartment door was shut and they were both inside.

"Yeah, they weren't exactly covert," Dave said. "At least I didn't think so."

The last pictures were the ones that would do the most damage to Maria's reputation, though, because they were the most explicit. They were back in Max's own house, back in his bed, and Dave had gotten some shots of them actually going at it. Her on top of him, him on top of her, behind her . . . all of it. Like something straight out of a porno or from the cover of an erotic novel.

"They probably should've closed the curtains," Dave said, snickering.

Max stared long and hard at Maria's face in all the photos. Her eyes were usually closed, her mouth usually open as though she were gasping or moaning. In ecstasy. She was . . . _ecstatic._

"These are good," he said, placing all the photos back in the envelope. "Thanks."

"No problem," Dave said. "Hey, sorry she's cheatin' on you, man."

 _Whatever,_ Max thought. _I don't care._

After he paid Dave the amount they'd previously negotiated, Max left with the envelope in hand. He had it, exactly what he'd wanted. It was all there in black and white. The proof. The photographic evidence.

So why the hell didn't he feel better?

He got in the car and just sat there behind the steering wheel for a few seconds, putting the key in the ignition without twisting it. Against his better judgment, he took out one of the photos again. In it, Maria was underneath Michael, and he was clearly fucking her. And she was laughing. He was saying something that made her _laugh_.

Max couldn't even remember the last time she'd laughed with him. He couldn't remember the last time they'd had sex. All these things that she was doing with Michael on a near daily basis . . . she hardly ever did them with him.

It stung. It hurt worse than he cared to admit.

The longer he stared at the photo, the more worked up he became. Eventually, the tears stinging his eyes started to fall over, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. All he could do was wipe them away quickly and pretend they'd never manifested themselves in the first place.

 _Get it together,_ he told himself, sliding the photo back into the envelope. He couldn't be a pathetic little pussy about this, couldn't let himself feel bad that she didn't love him. No. He had to be strong. That was the only way to take them down.


	74. Chapter 74

Maria wrinkled her nose as she stirred the crazy concoction in the pot in front of her. She wasn't exactly sure what she was going for here, but . . . hopefully it'd turn out.

Max walked in, and he looked surprised to see her. "You're home early," he remarked.

She was home at what was supposed to be a typical time, but it definitely _hadn't_ been typical. Not lately. "I didn't have to work at all today," she said.

"That's good." He kicked off his shoes, slowly sauntering into the kitchen. "Everyone needs a day off."

She nodded in agreement, still stirring.

"What's that?" he asked, leaning over to get a good look.

"Who knows?" she responded. "I sort of just tossed a whole bunch of stuff in together."

"Well, it smells good." He moved so that he was standing behind her, his hands on her waist.

"I doubt it tastes good, though," she said, trying not to tense up. It wasn't that she minded having him close or having his hands on her; it just felt weird, in a way, because . . . they weren't Michael's hands.

"I bet it tastes great," he said, lowering his head to press a kiss against the side of her neck. He pulled her shirt collar farther to the side, revealing more of her skin, and then kept kissing her. Long, drawn-out kisses. The persistent kind. Like he was in the mood for something.

She wasn't in that same mood.

"Do you wanna set the table?" she asked, hoping to distract him.

"Not really," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. His hands became more daring as one wrapped around her stomach, and the other reached around to squeeze her breast. When he pressed his hips forward a bit, she could feel his hardening cock pressing into her backside.

"Max . . ." She realized what a mistake it was to say his name, because even though she wanted to tell him to wait a minute or to slow down, he mistook it as a sign of passion. Seconds later, he was spinning her around so he kiss her mouth and grab her ass.

 _Oh, shit,_ she thought. This felt . . . fast. Like they were moving straight ahead at light speed, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

It wasn't his fault. He didn't have any reason to stop.

She quickly reached behind herself to turn down the heat on the stove before he lifted her up and set her down on the counter. He'd already started unbuttoning his shirt and trying to get her legs open when she said, "Wait, what about Dylan?" The thought of him walking out here and seeing his parents going at it was . . . well, mortifying.

Even the mention of his son wasn't enough to slow him down tonight. He lifted her up off the counter, and she was left with no real choice but to wrap her arms and legs around him and hold on tight as he carried her down the hallway and into their bedroom. He shut the door forcefully and then walked her over to the wall, slamming her back against it hard.

She cried out, not out of pleasure, but because it actually hurt a little. He was too caught up in the moment to apologize.

What moment, though? It was a completely different moment for him than it was for her. For him, it was clearly wild and sexy. Exhilarating. For her . . . it just felt wrong. In _so_ many ways.

He set her down on her own two feet so he could quickly unzip his pants and take his cock out. He was straining hard and ready to go and clearly didn't intend to take his time. He didn't ask for permission to push her own jeans down, but then again . . . he didn't really have to. He was her boyfriend, after all. This was what boyfriends and girlfriends did together. So she didn't make a move to stop him. Didn't protest.

Once her pants were off, he lifted her left leg up to wrap around his waist and held it there while he bent his knees and penetrated her. She gasped, another sound that he probably mistook for pleasure, and squeezed her eyes shut as he started thrusting right away.

 _Oh god,_ she thought, holding onto his shoulders as he moved. _What's happening? What am I doing?_ It had been a long time since she'd had sex with Max, and that probably explained why he was so into it.

His hips slammed into hers, jolting her whole body repeatedly. He was being rougher than normal, which wasn't always a bad thing. But this, right now . . . it was all a bad thing. It felt wrong, even though it wasn't. It felt like a betrayal. To Michael.

She was glad he pressed his head against the side of her neck while he moved inside her. That way he couldn't see any of the tears spill out of her eyes.

...

Michael didn't need to know. Not telling him was sort of the most appealing option. But for some reason . . . Maria almost felt obligated to tell him. Even though it was getting easier and easier to lie to Max, she just couldn't lie to Michael. And if she didn't tell him about what she'd done . . . it _would_ be a lie. Because it'd be a secret.

She showed up at his apartment early that morning and hesitantly pushed down on the door handle. It was unlocked, so she walked right in.

"Hey," he said as he scrambled around to finish getting ready. "What're you doin' here?"

She smiled sadly and shrugged. "Just wanted to see you." He looked like he was in a good mood this morning, probably because they were going to be able to spend plenty of time together today.

"Couldn't wait until class, huh?" he teased, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. He came right up in front of her and bent down to kiss her, his lips just as lively as the rest of him. She barely kissed him back, though, because she felt . . .

She wasn't sure what she felt, but it wasn't a good feeling.

"You okay?" he asked.

Leave it to him to immediately sense that something was wrong. "Yeah," she squeaked out, wondering if she could just keep her damn mouth shut. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, after all.

"You wanna walk together?" he offered. "Or would that be too obvious?"

She _longed_ to be able to walk to class with him, maybe even hand in hand. To be a couple out in public . . . that would have been nice. "Probably too obvious," she figured, resigning herself to a long walk alone.

"Right," he said, hanging his head. He perked back up in an instant, though, and suddenly he was lowering his backpack to the ground and declaring, "You know what? Screw class then. Let's just stay here."

 _Class is important,_ she wanted to say. She knew he'd been slacking ever since getting back together with her, and that bothered her.

"Look at this," he said, practically bouncing over to his bed. He peeled back the covers and motioned grandly to the new blue sheets underneath. "Fresh and clean, just like you wanted." Grinning from ear to ear, he asked, "You impressed?"

She tried to smile, but it was probably more of a grimace.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he came forward again, knowingly inquiring, "Okay, Maria, what's wrong?"

Of course she couldn't hide anything from him. He knew her too well. "I need to tell you something," she revealed quietly, dreading the thought of it. He wasn't going to be happy.

"This doesn't sound good," he mumbled, leaning against the dividing wall.

 _It's not good,_ she thought. In fact, it was downright awful. Gulping, she worked up the courage to get the words out. Like peeling off a Band-Aid, she knew it was best to just say it fast. "I had sex with Max last night."

His whole body stilled, and for a moment, his eyes glazed over. As though he were picturing it, even though he probably didn't want to.

 _Well, at least he's not yelling,_ she thought. Although that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't mad. "Say something," she begged, needing to be able to gauge his reaction.

"I don't . . ." He threw his hands up in the air frustratedly. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Anything."

He moved around a bit, starting to look more irritated. He shook his head, snorted, and then grumbled, "Dammit, Maria."

She winced.

"Why would you do that?"

"Why? Because I—I felt like I had to," she stuttered.

His eyebrows shot upward, and his expression morphed into one of concern. "So he pressured you then?" he said. "Is that it?"

"No, of course not." She definitely hadn't said no, and given that they were dating, Max would have needed a no in order to stop. "It just . . . it just happened."

He rolled his eyes and turned his back to her.

"What, would you have _preferred_ me to be pressured?" she demanded.

"No! Just . . ." He whirled back around, shaking his head again. Every bit of that good mood of his was just _gone_ , and clearly he was pissed.

"Look, Max is my boyfriend, okay?" she whimpered, hoping he could find it in his heart to understand.

"Yeah, I remember."

"If he wants to sleep with me, then . . ." She trailed off helplessly, wishing there'd been some way around it. But she'd known this day was coming for a while now, and he should have, too. "I mean, what was I supposed to do?"

"Say no," he proposed.

"And make him suspicious?"

"Yeah, you know, I really don't give a shit if Max is suspicious."

"I'm in a relationship with him, Michael."

"Yeah, well, you're also in a relationship with me," he pointed out.

"I'm having an affair with you." It was a totally different kind of relationship. He knew that.

"Oh, so what we have isn't as important as what you have with Max?" he yelled. "That's more of a priority to you than we are?"

"Oh, please, Michael," she grunted. "I think I've made our relationship a pretty big priority." It dominated each and every one of her days. Nothing occupied her thoughts or her actions as much as time with him did. Nothing. Not even Dylan, and she was ashamed to admit that.

"You still slept with Max, though," he grumbled.

"Look, I'm sorry!" she cried, moving closer to him. "I feel really bad about it. I know it's not fair to either of you." She reached out to touch his arm, hoping to calm him down.

He shook her hand away. "You're damn right it's not fair," he bit out accusingly. "I don't like goin' to bed at night knowing you're sleepin' next to him. Now I gotta think about you sleeping _with_ him? Oh, that's great. That's fantastic."

"Michael . . ." God, this was making her feel even worse.

"I don't wanna have to share you, Maria. I'm tired of it."

"I know, but what am I supposed to do?"

"Just break up with him!" he roared. "And then we can be together. Because we're meant to be together. You know that."

He sounded so sure. He _was_ so sure. She wished she had that same certainty, but with Dylan to consider . . . she just didn't. She wanted to be with Michael, but what right did she have to rob Dylan of his father, of a family he'd grown to love being a part of?

"Michael . . . I'm sorry," she choked out. "I just can't." If she only had herself to consider, it would have been easier. But she had to think of her son.

"So I'm supposed to be okay with this then, huh?" he growled. "I'm supposed to just put it out of my mind that you're still screwing him?"

"I don't know. I mean . . ." It wasn't something she planned to do every night, if that made him feel any better. "It's not like we do it that often."

"But it's gonna happen again," he said. "Obviously." Banging his head lightly against the wall, he continued to look frustrated, continued to look pissed, and she regretted saying anything. She'd probably just ruined his whole day, and if his day was ruined, then hers was, too.

" _Dammit_ , Maria," he said again. "This is . . . this is so fucked up."

Oh . . . nobody was more aware of that than her.

"I mean, what if you get pregnant?"

Her heart instantly felt like it broke in half when he said that. Because it dawned on her just _why_ this was upsetting him so much. It wasn't just that he was jealous or territorial or anything like that. He was worried. About the future.

"You know I'm on the pill," she reassured him.

"But what if you get pregnant," he speculated, his voice wavering, "and we wouldn't even know if it was mine?"

She stared up at him sadly, apologetically, wishing there was something she could say to that, something to make him feel better. But there was just . . . nothing.

"Just get outta here," he said suddenly.

She felt like she needed to stay, though, so they could talk some more. "Michael-"

"Just go," he cut her off, clearly done talking. His whole body was slumped now, as though he were just completely emotionally spent. And it was all her fault.

Sighing in distress, she reluctantly turned and walked to the door. She stopped with her hand on the handle, though, and cast a glance back at him. He wasn't even looking at her anymore. His eyes were on the floor, and his face was drawn tight in despair.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again as she let herself out. He deserved more than those two overused words, but . . . there was really nothing else she could give him.

She walked to class alone, crying the whole way there. For him. For Max. But not for herself.

...

A lot had changed. Just a few months ago, Michael had been the one dragging Kyle around, trying like hell to get him to socialize. Now, the tables had turned. Kyle was the one dragging him. Just like old times.

They went to Steve's place that night for guy time. Poker night in the basement, to be precise. It wasn't much of a game, though, since they were competing against a certified genius.

"Dammit, Monk," Fly swore as he slapped his cards down on the table, "why you gotta be so good at this?"

"I'm good at everything," Monk boasted flatly.

"I used to be good at everything," Kyle recalled wistfully. "I miss that."

Munching on potato chips, Fly turned to Michael and asked, "Yo, chico, you got anything?"

Michael glanced down at his cards again. Hell, he had nothing. If he kept on going, it would be a pure bluff, nothing more. "Maybe," he answered vaguely, shifting his focus over to Monk. Being as emotionless as he was, the guy had the ultimate poker face. There was just no way to tell whether or not he actually had a good hand.

"Ah, fuck it," Michael muttered, laying his cards down in defeat. "I fold."

"And Monk wins again," Steve proclaimed.

"Dude, that ain't even fair," Fly complained.

"Thank God we're not really playin' for money," Kyle said.

"Oh." Monk's face got _so_ close to showing an actual expression, like maybe disappointment. "I thought we were." It registered, though, and then he just shrugged and collected all his chips.

"Man, we should do shit like this more often, you know?" Fly said. "Bropack stuff."

"I know," Steve agreed, "but I got a kid to take care of."

"I got kids on the way," Kyle added.

"I gotta wax my back," Monk blurted.

"And I'm just . . ." Michael grunted. "Freakin' busy."

Fly made a face. "How? You ain't got Sarah to fool around with no more."

 _No,_ Michael thought, _but I've got someone._ If she wasn't too busy fooling around with Max, of course.

"Nice, Fly," Kyle said.

"Sorry, man," Fly quickly apologized.

"It's alright," Michael assured him. These guys didn't know that losing Sarah was his own damn fault.

"What Michael means is that he's been busy studying," Kyle told them. "For finals." He shot him a hard look and added, "I hope."

Michael nodded, wishing that were the case. "I'm gettin' there."

"You're gonna ace 'em," Steve predicted confidently. "I mean, you have to. You're, like, the smartest person I know."

"Me?" Michael stared at him in astonishment. " _I'm_ the smartest person?"

"Yeah. Well, besides Monk."

Monk nodded in agreement. "I'm smarter than everyone."

Steve smirked. "And bear in mind, I know some real idiots."

"Oh, that's true," Fly confirmed. "He does."

Michael chuckled lightly, wondering if Steve or any of these guys would still think he was so smart if they saw his grades right now. Or if they knew . . . what he was doing. With Maria. "I don't know, Steve-O," he said. "Lately I feel like I've been . . . pretty dumb."

"Well, you ain't been yourself," Fly said, reaching out to recollect everybody's cards. "That's for sure."

Michael frowned as the table fell silent. It hadn't been an accusation, but for some reason . . . it still felt that way.

Later, as Kyle drove them home, he brought it up, figuring if there was anyone who'd be completely honest with him, it was his best friend. "You think Fly's right," he asked, "that I haven't been myself lately?"

It took Kyle a few seconds to answer. "Kind of. Maybe."

" 'cause of my grades?" he guessed.

"No. I mean, that's part of it, but . . ." Kyle shrugged. "It's more than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, it's like . . ." Kyle sighed. "Ever since you broke up with Sarah, I can't tell where your head's at anymore. I can't get a read on you. And that's weird for me, 'cause let's face it, I'm pretty much your soulmate. But not in a gay way."

Michael looked out the window and frowned again. If even Kyle couldn't figure him out right now . . . then he really was different. He wasn't high school Michael, and he wasn't college Michael. He was some screwed up version in between.

"I can't stop thinkin' about her, Kyle," he confessed. Even now, she was running through his mind.

"Who?" he asked. "Sarah?"

There was this hopefulness in that question, like Kyle _wanted_ him to be thinking about her. But Sarah didn't have that kind of power over him, the power to make him completely forget about everything else. And he and Kyle both knew that.

Michael shot him a look and didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

"That would be the problem then," Kyle said quietly as he turned onto Michael's street.

Was it a problem, though? When he was with Maria, it felt like time stopped, and his whole world was perfect. It was only when he was without her, like he was right now, that reality crept back in.


	75. Chapter 75

When Max fell asleep on her couch with Scarlet on his stomach that night, Liz couldn't resist taking a few pictures. She let them rest for a while, but eventually she had to go over to him and give his shoulder a little shake. "Max," she said. "Max, wake up."

He struggled to open his eyes. The poor guy just looked so tired, like he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep all week.

"It's getting late," she told him. "You should probably go home now."

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay. You guys got comfy."

"Hmm." He rubbed the back of Scarlet's head, threading his fingers through her ever-growing dark hair. His eyes fluttered shut again, and he made no effort to get up off that couch. "I don't wanna leave," he murmured groggily.

She didn't want that, either, not in the slightest, but . . . he had another family to get home to. "Why not?" she asked, trying to keep him talking so he wouldn't fall back asleep.

"Because," he said, his voice quiet, "I like it here."

She couldn't help but smile, one of those smiles where your heart skipped a beat. For a second, she let herself be giddy about that, like a crushed out teenager. But then she brought herself back down. It wasn't like he'd suddenly changed his mind and decided that he preferred her to Maria. He was just tired. He didn't even know what he was saying.

...

In the midst of debating dinner options—Hot Pockets or pizza out of the box, yum—Alex heard someone call his name.

"Alex!"

He spun around, his eyes immediately landing on Isabel as she scurried across the parking lot to catch up with him. "Hey," she said. "Oh, wait, should I have called your Professor Whitman in public?"

"No, Alex is fine. I'm not a professor yet."

"Hey, I'm glad I ran into you," she said. "I wanted to tell you . . ." She drew it out dramatically, a big smile finding its way to her lips. "I quit. I'm done."

"You mean with . . ." He trailed off, knowing he must have looked surprised, but it wasn't because he'd doubted her. It was just that . . . well, yeah, maybe he _had_ doubted her a bit.

"With all of it," she confirmed. "And I told Jesse, and he was totally understanding."

"Really?" Now that was a shock. "Well, that's . . . that's great, Isabel. I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks," she said, looking the happiest he'd seen her in a long time. "But you know, I don't think I would've had the strength to do this if I wasn't writing again. And I wouldn't be writing if it wasn't for you, so . . . you were a big part of this."

"Oh, don't give me so much credit," he said, unwilling to take any away from her. "This is all you, Isabel." She'd gotten herself into this mess, but thank God she was getting herself out of it now.

"Thanks, Alex," she said again. She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek this time. Nothing major. Just a peck. And with a smile and a wave, she was gone, heading back through the parking lot in the opposite direction. There was a bounce in her step, quite literally. She looked exuberant and vibrant in a way she hadn't for years.

He watched her go, wondering if it was possible for her to go back to being the girl she used to be. The smart one. The sweet one. The one everyone liked. If she went back to being that girl, he wouldn't be able to resist liking her again.

...

Back when he'd been a kid and life at home had been hell, Michael used to lie on his bed and toss a small, plastic football up into the air repeatedly. He'd count how many times he would catch it, and that would help distract him from all the yelling downstairs. There was no yelling now, but there was still a football. And he was still tossing it.

It _wasn't_ distracting him, though.

He'd caught it seventy-five times when there was a knock on the door. "It's open," he called.

Quietly, like a timid little mouse, in came Maria. "Hey," she said softly, locking the door as she shut it. She sulked over to his bed and sat down on the side of it, legs drawn close together, hands in her lap. She just sat there for a few seconds, not saying anything, and he didn't feel the need to say anything either. But finally . . . "Do you hate me?" she asked weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He threw the football up one more time and caught it, then brought his arms down. "I love you," he answered. "That's why this sucks."

She looked down at her lap as if she didn't want to look him in the eye. "I feel horrible," she admitted. "Kind of disgusting, actually." She blinked as a few tears spilled over onto her cheeks. "I'm such a slut."

He sat up slowly, hating that she would attach that label to herself. "Don't say that."

She shrugged sadly. "Why not? It's true."

"It's not true." He scooted closer to her.

"I'm sleeping with you, I'm sleeping with him." Swallowing hard, she grumbled, "Like a whore."

"Hey." He cupped her cheek and forced her to look at him. "Don't you dare call yourself that." Maria DeLuca was a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them. And it never would be.

"I really am sorry," she apologized, covering his hand with hers. "I know this isn't what you want. I know that I'm a coward and I should just . . . tell him."

In a perfect world, that would have happened. But Michael had lived long enough to know the world was far from perfect. And so were they. "Someday you will," he said, lowering his hand.

Her head drooped, and she stared down at her lap again. "I understand," she mumbled, "if you don't wanna wait for that day."

He definitely didn't _want_ to. He wanted to walk outside with her right now and tell the whole wide world he was in love with her. But until then . . . "I'll wait," he told her. For him, there was no other option. "I can't not be with you, Maria."

She gazed up at him with wide eyes, eyes that were shimmering with tears. Tears of relief, maybe. Tears of sadness. Guilt. Maybe a mixture of all different kinds. She was as heartbreaking as she was beautiful, and the only thing that felt right to do was to kiss her.

Her whole body instantly relaxed the moment his mouth came into contact with hers. It was as if this calm just settled over her, and he felt it wash all over him, too, seeping into every fiber of his being. All the anxiety, the fear, the doubt . . . it just faded away, and she was the only thing that existed again.

He wrapped his arms around her, brought her in close, and laid her down to make love to her in a way Max Evans couldn't even comprehend. Because Max didn't love her this much.

...

When Max peeked into Dylan's room that night, he didn't expect to see his son still awake. But there he was, sitting up in bed, using his desk lamp to illuminate a comic book. Hell, even if it was just a comic, at least his kid was reading.

"What're you still doin' up?" Max asked him. It was late. No way was it _that_ much of a page-turner.

Dylan set his comic aside, pouting. "Where's Mom?" he whimpered.

Max sat down on the side of the bed, sighing. Even Dylan was noticing it at this point, wondering, questioning. In a way, it was a good thing. Just more and more for him to document. "She's . . . working late," he answered, figuring that was pretty much a euphemism at this point. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He pulled the blankets up further over his son's chest and turned the lamp off. "Get some sleep."

Dylan snuggled back down under the covers, apparently reassured that there was nothing to worry about.

Max got up and started to leave, but he stopped mid-way through the room and turned back around. "Hey, Dylan?"

His son's eyes blinked back open.

Taking a seat on the side of the bed again, Max hesitantly asked the question he'd always wanted to, one that seemed more relevant now than ever before. "Are you glad I'm your dad?"

"Yep," Dylan replied right away, much to his relief.

Max smiled happily. Thank God there was some redemption left in the world, because he'd sure as hell needed it with Dylan. He didn't know what he'd do without it, who he'd be.

"But . . ." Dylan hesitated for a moment, then mumbled, "I like Micho, too."

And just like that, the relief was gone, replaced by uncertainty and dread. Even after all this time, Michael's name still came to mind when he heard the word dad? Why? It didn't have to be that way. Maybe if Maria hadn't let them get so close, if she hadn't confused the kid so much . . .

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Max nervously asked another question: "Who's your favorite dad? Me or him?"

Dylan's eyes got wide, almost scared, like he didn't know what to say. Or just didn't want to say it.

That . . . pretty much said it all, though, didn't it? It was a crushing blow, one that Max had always feared but never quite managed to prepare himself for. His son preferred Michael to him. And maybe he always would. That knowledge made him want to sink inside himself and never come back out again.

"You don't have to answer," he said, trying to smile lightheartedly. But it faded quickly, and he had to get out of there before Dylan caught a glimpse of just how much that truly hurt him. It wasn't his fault that he felt that way, but it still hurt.

"Goodnight," Max said on his way out of the room. But it _wasn't_ a good night at all. None of them seemed good anymore. In fact, the only one that had been bearable was the other night at Liz's house.

...

"Did you hang out with Sarah yesterday?" Kyle asked Tess as he helped her out of the car. He couldn't help but notice that she had on two different shoes, but . . . he wasn't about to say anything. It wasn't her fault she couldn't really see her own two feet anymore.

"Yeah, we went to yoga," Tess replied.

" _You_ did yoga?" he said skeptically. That couldn't be physically possible at this point.

"I did mental yoga," she corrected.

He shut the car door, making a face. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I was imagining it in my mind, but obviously I can't right now." She patted her huge stomach and waddled forward through the parking lot. "Sarah enjoyed it, though. I think it helped her de-stress."

Kyle quickly grabbed her yoga mat out of the backseat—although she definitely wouldn't be using it for any yoga today—and followed her. "Is she stressing about finals?" he guessed.

"Not really. More like . . . life stuff. I mean, she's for sure going home this summer, but she still doesn't know if she's coming back."

Kyle caught up to her and held the door to the rec center open for her. "I hope she does."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I'll miss her if she's not here. Besides, I already lost one best friend to Michael Guerin's infidelity. I really don't wanna go through that again."

He ignored that jab at his friend, knowing it was probably warranted, and escorted his girlfriend down the hall, having to redirect her a few times when she tried to take a wrong turn. "Even if she doesn't live here, she can still be your best friend," he pointed out. Although long-distance friendships were probably hard, just like long-distance relationships.

"Yeah, but it wouldn't be the same," she mumbled. "Don't tell her I said that, though. I don't want her to feel obligated to stay."

"Your secret's safe with me," he assured her, opening one more door, this time to the big open studio where this birthing class was being held for the day. There were a bunch of expectant moms and their partners already there, mingling and socializing. Not one of them was as big as Tess was, though, so they were either not as far along or just not having twins.

"You ready for this?" he asked her, actually kind of stoked to be there with her. A few months ago, he probably wouldn't have been.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she said, smiling at him. Reaching out, she took hold of his hand, and together they shuffled into the room.

...

Michael was in the midst of a truly fucking great dream when he heard someone clear their throat. _Loudly._ As if the sole purpose of making any sound at all was just to wake him up.

He slowly opened his eyes, taking a moment to figure out where the hell he even was. Not in his own bed, that was for sure. He was in the Music Appreciation lecture hall, slumped over in his usual seat, Maria's head on his shoulder as she slept, too. Their professor towered over them, glaring down at them disapprovingly, scowling.

"Class is over," he snapped.

 _Class?_ Michael rubbed his eyes, trying to remember a single second of it.

As the professor strode back to the front of the room, Michael moved Maria around to wake her up. She groaned and tried to stay sleeping, but finally, when her eyes fluttered open and she realized where they were and saw that no one else was still around, she started functioning again.

"I'm interested to see how you two do on your finals," their professor remarked snidely as they gathered up their things.

Michael shot him an annoyed look, but Maria just grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room.

"Did you hear that?" he ranted as they slowly made their way down the hall. "'Interested to see how you two do on your finals.' Fuck you, man."

"He hates us," Maria said, stating the obvious.

Michael rolled his eyes, figuring it probably had as much to do with the whole Billy incident as it did with falling asleep in class. "Huh," he said, taking a minute to let it soak in that there was an actual adult on this campus who didn't think highly of him for a change. "I've never actually had a professor hate me before."

"No, but all your high school teachers hated you," she reminded him.

"True."

"Like Mr. Frost."

" _Oh_. Asshole." Just the mere mention of that guy made him want to punch something.

She laughed a little, then yawned. A pretty big yawn for such a small girl.

"Am I wearin' you out?" he teased, nudging her side playfully.

"Kind of," she admitted. "It's a lot of sex."

"You wanna cut back?" he offered, though there was no chance of that happening.

"I didn't say that." She grinned, that same sexy, flirtatious grin he'd grown so accustomed to seeing these past few months. It really turned him on. Pretty much everything she did turned him on at this point.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her off into an empty side hallway right before they got to the front exit doors. There was no one around, so he went for it. He pressed his whole body against hers and kissed her, knowing that this would have to do for today. Because he had to work at the school all afternoon and at the Vidorra front desk that night. They wouldn't be able to get any more time together.

When their lips parted ways, he kept his head bent down to hers, loving the way her hands had found their way to his belt loops to keep him pulled against her close. "It's getting harder and harder to say goodbye to you," she confessed sadly.

"I know," he agreed, feeling those same reluctant pangs of acceptance. Knowing he wouldn't have to say goodbye forever was the only thing that kept him going. The harder this became for her, the easier it would be for her to give in and tell Max the truth someday. And once he knew . . . then they'd never have to say goodbye again.

...

Day or night, rain or shine, it seemed as if there were always some hippie wannabe rockstar sitting out in the middle of nowhere on campus, strumming a guitar, collecting tips in an open case. Max usually bypassed them without so much as a second glance, but not this time. In fact, there was a certain musician he was intentionally seeking out.

Billy didn't look much different than he had a couple months ago at the hearing with the disciplinary committee, except that he had more facial hair now. He still looked like a smarmy, opportunistic son of a bitch. Which was perfect.

Max walked up to him and dropped two quarters into his guitar case. Billy must have recognized him right away, because he slowed down the song, then eventually stopped singing altogether. He gave the strings of his guitar one final strum and then just looked up at Max with wide, curious eyes. He probably thought he was about to get beat up or something. But that wasn't the case.

"Well, well, well," Max drawled. "You're just the person I'm looking for."

That alarmed expression in Billy's eyes didn't diminish at all.


	76. Chapter 76

Isabel snuggled up next to Jesse on the couch that night with a cup of hot cocoa in hand. It was unusually cold out given the month they were in, and their heater was on the fritz. Jesse mumbled something about an unpaid bill when she asked him about it, but he didn't dwell on it.

"See, this is gonna be nice," she said, pushing the lone marshmallow she'd included in her drink beneath the surface before letting it pop back up again. "Now we can be a normal couple. And have privacy."

"Yeah, you can wear your fuzzy socks," he said, putting his arm around her. "And your flannel pajamas."

She glanced down at her outfit, knowing it wasn't the most seductive of her bedtime looks. "Don't worry," she assured him. "I'll still dress sexy for you. But _just_ for you. Won't that be nice?"

"Hmm." He kept his mouth shut and smiled. "It _does_ have a certain appeal."

"A big appeal." She took a sip of her cocoa and held it up for him, but he shook his head to decline, so she leaned forward to set it on the coffee table.

"You know, Is," he said, tightening his arm around her, pulling her back against his side, "I was thinking, even though you're done now, maybe we should just do one last video."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Well, just as, like, a send-off," he clarified. "A thank you to the fans."

"Ah, yes, thank you for jacking off while watching me have sex," she said sarcastically.

"I'm serious," he persisted. "They paid good money to get on our site. And that money's helped keep a roof over our heads."

"Yeah, I know, but . . ." She was so excited to be through with it that she didn't want to backtrack. She understood what he was saying and everything, but . . . she just didn't care about it as much as he did. She never had.

"Just one more," he pressed on. "It can be whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

"Yes."

She mentally weighed the pros and cons of it. As much as she was ready for porn to be a part of her past . . . it did sort of make sense in a way. Maybe at the end of it she could put in some plug for Courtney's site. After all, as long as Courtney kept gaining subscribers, the roof stayed over their heads. Besides, she'd already made hundreds of videos. It wasn't as if one more would make a difference.

"Okay, just one," she reluctantly agreed. "But it has to be just you and me. And like, romantic. Not some cheesy storyline."

"Of course," he said. "It'll be our best one ever, 'cause it'll just be real. It doesn't even have to be about sex. It can be about . . . love, you know?" Reaching out, he ran his hand through her hair and down her arm to hold her hand. "We'll make love."

"That sounds good to me," she said, not dreading it as much anymore. These kinds of films really could be quite artistic, if they were done in the right way. She'd always admired the movies that weren't so objectifying, the ones that were, in a sense, beautiful. But Jesse had never given her the chance to make one of those. Until now.

"And it'll be the last one," he reassured her. "I promise."

 _The last one,_ she thought eagerly. _Thank God._ It actually wasn't a bad idea, either. At the very least, it was a graceful way to exit a rough business.

...

Billy sure as hell was a needy little scumbag. He refused to talk to Max until he was fed, so Max had to stop at Burger King on the way home and pick him up a Whopper. He ate it on the drive to Max's house and was done by the time they got there. Once inside, though, he mainly just roamed around the living room, looking at Dylan's now vast array of Xbox games, his school picture up on the wall, and a photo of the three of them at their first Houston Texans game. Maria looked particularly hot in that photo, and Billy's eyes lingered on it a little longer than necessary.

Finally, though, he tore his attention away and remarked, "Nice house."

"I've lived in nicer," Max grumbled. Maybe he'd still get his mansion and his millions someday, like his father had.

"So you were lookin' for me, huh?" Billy gave him a curious look. "How'd you find me?"

"Oh, it wasn't too hard. I just followed the sound of crappy music." Max smirked derisively, all too eager to insult this guy, even though he needed his assistance. "No, actually, I just asked around."

"Okay, better question then: _Why_ did you find me?" Billy amended.

"I told you, I need your help."

"With what?"

Max shoved his hands in his pockets, shuffling forward. "I have a situation," he stated vaguely.

"Let me guess: love triangle," Billy knowingly speculated. "Pretty much saw that comin'. Trust me, man, they're into each other."

"I'm well aware of that." Max picked up the envelope of Dave's incriminating photos and handed one over to Billy, one of the ones where they were fucking in his own bed.

"Whoa," Billy said, eyes growing wide with a mixture of shock and arousal. "Looks like he's been gettin' into her." He handed the photo back and motioned to the Texans one up on the wall. "That's a far cry from, uh . . . this."

Max slipped the photo back in the envelope, set it back down on the coffee table, and sadly glanced over at the picture of him and Maria and Dylan, where they were all smiles. Those had been the early days of their fragile little family, back before Dylan had learned to call him dad, before he and Maria had started up their romantic relationship again. Michael Guerin had been a non-factor in their lives, and it had been . . . simple. Peaceful. Harmonious, one might even say. They probably should have just stayed in Houston. Although even that probably wouldn't have been enough to keep Michael and Maria apart.

"You see that little boy?" he said. "That's my son, Dylan. He's the only thing in this house I still care about." He gulped, remembering what life had been like before him, before knowing him. Every single day, it was as if there had been this empty hole in his heart, and he'd tried to fill it up with drugs, with the false sense of empowerment drugs would give him. But now that he had Dylan in his life, now that he was able to tuck him into bed every single night and wake him up the next morning, he knew just how much he'd be missing without him around.

"I'm gonna lose him," he predicted dreadfully. "If I let this play out the way Maria wants, I'm gonna lose my son."

Billy's face scrunched up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's simple, really." He flapped his arms against his sides and outright stated, "Michael and Maria are having an affair. They think I don't know about it. They think they can keep it a secret, and when she _does_ finally decide to tell me . . ." He shrugged. "I'll just give in, let them have their happy little family, settle for joint custody at best." Scoffing inwardly at the very idea, he growled, "They think I'll eventually make room for Dylan to have another dad. But that's not happening."

"So you gonna sue the shit outta her or what?"

He grinned smugly. "That's the plan. But first, I gotta make sure she doesn't have a leg to stand on." He circled around his soon-to-be partner in crime, laying it all out in extra dramatic fashion, just so the severity of the situation sunk in. "You see, I'm not an idiot, Billy. I may have let her pull the wool over my eyes, but that was . . . a fluke. A momentary lapse in judgment brought on by the pressure of trying to be a nice guy. But I'm not that nice, and I _am_ that smart. Smart enough to know mothers usually win the custody battles these days."

Billy grunted, "Even whore mothers?" He took a step back, holding his hands up in front of himself defensively. "I assume I can call her that now without getting punched in the face?"

"Go right ahead," Max allowed. He had no problem with Billy speaking the truth. "Maria's a liar and a cheater, sure," he went on, "but I've got plenty of strikes against me, too. Drugs. Kicked out of college. Kidnapping. Not to mention the fact that I wasn't around for the first four years of his life." It was quite a colorful list of disappointments and endangerments, one that he knew he would always struggle to overcome. "If I go against Maria, my chances aren't good."

"So then do the shared custody thing," Billy suggested, as if it were that simple.

 _But I've never been good at sharing,_ Max thought, smirking. "I've got a better idea," he announced. "I think the only way to beat Maria is to make her seem as bad as I used to be. And in order to do that . . . I have to take away everything she has." He stopped in front of the Texans photo and shook his head at the happy version of her posed there. "Her credibility, her reliability, source of income, opportunity for education." Some of those were easier to take away than others. Some of them she was damaging all by herself. "If she doesn't have a job and she's not goin' to school and she's a lying bitch who spends more time with secret lover than her own son . . . then who in their right mind would side with her?"

Billy chuckled lightly, kicking at the carpet. "Alright, sounds good," he said. "But how the hell do I figure into this?"

Truthfully, Max wished he didn't. He didn't like having to ask for help, especially not with something so important to him. But Billy was the only person he could think of who had a grudge against Maria, a score to settle. So that was built-in motivation. "Maria's taking one class this semester," he said, rolling his eyes at how easy she had it, "and she's got a final exam coming up."

"You want her to fail it?" Billy assumed.

"No." That wouldn't cause enough controversy. "I want her to do what she does best: cheat."

"Yeah, I don't think she's gonna."

"But we can make it look like she did. If only there was _someone_ who could get his hands on the answer key . . ."

"Me?" Billy said. "You want me to swipe the answer key?"

"Shouldn't be too hard. You're a TA, after all."

"No, I was," Billy corrected. "I'm not anymore."

"Thanks to her," he made sure to remind him.

"And Michael. And even you."

Max waved that off. Water under the fucking bridge at this point. "Consider this my olive branch," he urged. "You think you could get it?"

Billy thought about it for a moment, then shrugged as if it were no big deal. "Sure. Professor stores all his tests and keys online. I know his password. And he doesn't even know I know his password."

"Perfect. You get that to me, and I'll make it look like she had it all along." Hell, he'd even use that answer key to help Maria study for her exam, and then she really _would_ be cheating. Unbeknownst to her, of course. "So do we have a deal?" he asked eagerly.

Billy narrowed his eyes at him skeptically. "That depends," he said. "What's in it for me?"

 _The only thing that matters,_ Max thought. _The same thing that's in it for me._ "Revenge," he answered coldly. "If you want it. Do you want revenge, Billy? I mean, this is the girl who brought you down. I know you wanted to teach that music class someday. Fat chance of that ever happening now. So don't you think Maria deserves a taste of her own medicine?"

Billy grinned wickedly, as if he were _really_ enjoying this. "You really hate her, don't you?"

He shook his head. "It's not about hate. It's about love. She loves Michael. I love my son." He took in a deep, determined breath and proudly declared, "I love him enough to fight for him."

Billy studied him for a few more seconds, contemplatively, then slowly nodded. "So if we do this," he said, "and say she gets kicked out . . . then what?"

"Well, then she loses her job, for starters." It excited him just thinking about it. "Can't work for housing if you're not even a student."

"And you think that'll be enough to beat her?"

"No. But it doesn't need to be." This was just one piece of the puzzle. The others were either already in place, or getting there. "I've still got some other tricks up my sleeve." There wasn't necessarily one thing that was going to be the smoking gun. There was just going to be so much evidence against her that added up enough to cast a reasonable doubt on whether or not she had _any_ suitable parenting potential. "So what do you say, Billy?" He held out his hand for a shake, hoping to seal the deal on this unconventional partnership. "Are you in?"

Slowly, and much to Max's delight, a mischievous grin crept to Billy's face. "I was in from the second you let me call her a whore," he said, firmly shaking Max's hand.

...

"Thanks again for buying all of these," Liz told Maria as she set a box full of twenty-four doughnuts down on the counter in front of her. "Business has been a little slow lately."

"Oh, it'll pick up," Maria assured her. "And I'll be back in a couple weeks to buy a Mother's Day cake, by the way."

Liz quickly rang up her total on the register and said, "Aw, I'm sure your mom will appreciate that."

"Pretty sure she won't," Maria mumbled, handing her friend a twenty, "but it's worth a shot."

"Yeah. Max wants me to make a cake for his mom, too."

Maria smiled. "I like her. She's really nice."

"Yeah, she is," Liz agreed, taking two one-dollar bills out of her register. She tried to hand them back over to Maria as change, but Maria shook her head, signaling her to just keep them. As she was opening the doughnut box, about to take one out, Liz cleared her throat and segued, "Hey, speaking of Max . . ."

"We were speaking of Max?" Maria cut in.

"Well, his mom. Close enough." Liz pointed out a particularly well-frosted doughnut and continued, "How's he been doing lately?"

"Fine," Maria said, carefully lifting that doughnut out past the rest. "Just . . . typical Max." She took a bite, savoring the sugary goodness, and then frowned. "Why?"

"He just seemed kinda . . ." Liz trailed off and shrugged. "I don't know, there was something off about him when he hung out with me and Scarlet the other night."

"Off?" Maria echoed. Maybe he'd just been tired or something. His job was pretty damn physically demanding, after all.

"He just seemed quiet," Liz said, traces of concern in her voice. "A little closed-off."

Maria took another bite of her doughnut, not sure why Liz would interpret it that way. "Well, I don't know," she said, assuming it wasn't anything to make a big deal out of. "He's been fine with me."

...

Maria had finally managed to come up with a new excuse this time. _Study group._ For finals. Yeah, right. The only thing she was studying was Michael's lower anatomy.

Her absence meant Max once again had to pick up the slack. Dylan was over at Luke's house for dinner, but that didn't change the fact that they needed food, too, so he swung by the grocery store to stock up. As fate would have it, Sarah happened to be in the pasta aisle at the same exact time he was, eyes fixated on two boxes of noodles in her hands: spaghetti and elbow macaroni.

"Hey, Sarah," he greeted, wheeling his cart towards her.

Her head shot up, almost as if he'd scared her. "Oh. Hey, Max," she returned, quickly making the spaghetti her choice. She tossed the box into her cart and asked, "How are you?"

In truth, he was the worst he'd been in years. But no way was he telling her that. "Pretty good," he lied. "You?"

Her response wasn't exactly convincing. "Yeah, I'm alright."

 _You're not alright,_ he thought, narrowing his eyes at her. Outwardly, she _looked_ good, but she just didn't sound or act like her usual bubbly self.

"Gosh, it's been a while since I've seen you, huh?" she said.

"Yeah. Since basketball season, I think." He wondered now if Michael and Maria had been getting it on even back then.

"Things have been really . . ." She trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Crazy," he supplied.

"Yeah, that's a good word for it."

It occurred to him that she was quite possibly in a similar situation to his own, even though she and Michael weren't together anymore. What if they'd broken up because of Maria? It certainly seemed possible, even likely. Surely the timing of the whole thing couldn't have been _that_ much of a coincidence.

"So you've been doin' alright?" he asked. "You know, with the . . ." He didn't exactly want to say it, because he actually legitimately liked Sarah, and there was no need to be harsh with her.

"Break-up?" she filled in.

"Yeah."

She sighed shakily, once again sounding unconvincing when she said, "I'm okay. Some days are harder than others."

He wanted to openly sympathize, to tell her that he understood; but he had to be a fortress, strong and undamaged. For now, at least. "Well, take comfort in the fact that it's his loss," he assured her, hoping one day Michael would look back and realize what an idiot he was for breaking up with a girl who, by all appearances, was pretty much the perfect girlfriend. "You were obviously way too good for him."

She smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, that's what Tess keeps telling me."

 _You're probably too good for me, too,_ he thought. Not that he was looking to get involved with her or anything. But when all of this was said and done and Dylan was securely in his custody . . . well, it wouldn't suck to sleep with Sarah Nguyen, to add a little extra salt into Michael's wounds.

"If you don't mind me asking," he said gently, "why'd you guys break up?"

"Oh, it was . . ." She immediately looked frazzled, and her answer was uncharacteristically vague. "It was a lot of things."

"Such as?" He really wanted to know if she knew about Maria, or if she even suspected the possibility.

Sarah winced. "I'd rather not talk about it, if that's okay."

"Of course." He backed off, not wanting to seem too pushy. "Sorry, I shouldn't pry."

"No, you're fine," she assured him, gripping the handlebar of her grocery cart. "Well, I have to go. But it was good seeing you, Max."

"You, too." He gave her a friendly wave as she walked on past, and when she rounded the corner into next aisle, he shook his head in disgust. It wasn't her who disgusted him, though. It was Michael. Clearly he'd recruited her into this whole cover-up, even though she surely didn't want to be a part of it. Maybe she didn't know that they were still having an affair, but she knew _something_ , and he'd somehow convinced her to keep it a secret for him. How sick and twisted was that?

...

"Oh my god, look at him," Maria cooed as scrolled through pictures of Joe on Michael's phone. "He's so cute."

"Yeah, he's pretty great." He rubbed his hands up and down her back, appreciating the smooth feel of her bare skin. "I've got tons of pictures, too. My mom and Tina both send me some every day."

She smiled, setting his phone aside. "I took so many pictures of Dylan when he was a baby," she said.

He'd seen some of those pictures. They were adorable enough to melt even the manliest man's manly heart. "I wish I would've known him then."

"Well, he wasn't that much different than he is now," she said, resting her chin atop his chest. "Except that he couldn't walk or talk or . . . okay, he was different."

"What about you?" He tucked her hair behind her ear for her, letting his thumb linger over her cheek. "What were you like?"

" _I_ . . . was very different."

"Very?"

"Yeah." Her eyes glossed over thoughtfully, and she lay her head down. Tracing invisible designs on his chest with her middle finger, she murmured, "I never thought I'd end up doing all of this."

"You mean us?" he asked.

"Yeah." It was like there was this sudden sadness surrounding her when she spoke about it. "I guess that's normal, though, right? I mean, nobody grows up thinking they'll have an affair."

"Don't call it that," he said, twisting the ends of her hair around his fingers.

"That's what it is."

"It's more than that," he insisted, refusing to let what they had be diminished to something so . . . one-dimensional. "We're in love."

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, and when she did finally speak again, she even _sounded_ sad. "It's still wrong, though."

He sighed heavily, wishing he could disagree with that. But he couldn't. There was no way to justify what they were doing, and there never would be. Knowing that, he just kissed her forehead tenderly, hoping she'd fall asleep there with him tonight and forget to go home.


	77. Chapter 77

"Okay, big news!" Isabel announced, nearly bursting at the seams with excitement as she scampered into Liz's bakery. "Life starts now. I'm making a huge positive change."

Liz stopped frosting the cake she was currently working on and made a face. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm done doing porn, Liz," Isabel declared. "Well, one more video, and then I'm done. Isn't that great?"

"Uh . . ." Liz looked a little at a loss for words, but she managed to find some to say. "Yes, that is . . . that's very good, Isabel."

"Aren't you excited for me?" Alex had been a lot more smiley when she'd told him the news. "This is a really big deal."

"It is, and I get that," Liz acknowledged. "I'm—I'm really . . . proud of you, Isabel. For finally standing up for yourself."

"Thank you." There was some genuine support there, even if it wasn't as exuberant as she'd been hoping. It probably was strange, in a sense, to be congratulating somebody on giving up their porn career. That wasn't as standard as congratulating somebody on a marriage or a new baby. "Anyway, I gotta get to class," she chirped, glancing at the clock. "Tell Max, okay?"

"Uh, why don't you just tell him yourself?" Liz suggested.

"Because . . ." She let out a heavy sigh, wishing he'd give a damn about anything she had to say. "He doesn't like me. Because every conversation he has with me seems like a chore."

A flash of sympathy flickered in Liz's eyes for a few seconds, and she said, "Alright, I'll tell him."

 _Good,_ Isabel thought. _Then maybe he'll start to like me more again._

She got in the car and started her drive to campus, blasting radio-friendly pop songs at top volume. She normally tried to avoid overly-catchy music, because it just didn't seem like a suitable soundtrack to her life. But today, it seemed fitting.

While she was stopped at a light, she noticed something curious. Her brother, the exact same one who didn't want to talk to her . . . walking into a jewelry store. A _jewelry_ store.

Her mouth gaped. _Holy shit._

She sat through one class, contemplating whether or not to text him and just ask him outright what he'd been doing there. But chances were he wouldn't respond. Besides . . . wasn't it kind of obvious? Guys didn't go get jewelry for the hell of it. Clearly he had a reason.

As if by fate, she spotted Michael outside the student union, sitting with his feet in the water of an overly large fountain in which wading was technically not supposed to be allowed. There was an open book in his lap, and he looked like he was struggling to get through it.

 _Cramming?_ she suspected. That was some vintage Michael Guerin right there.

She went and sat down beside him, figuring she'd slip a little good news in before the bad. "So first things first," she started in, "I'm turning my life around."

"Don't care," he grumbled, flipping the page without even glancing at her.

"And second . . . I saw something interesting today."

"Still don't care."

She rolled her eyes at his utter disengagement. "Max went into a jewelry store."

 _That_ got his attention. His head whipped up from the book, concern all over his gorgeous face.

"Oh, _now_ you care," she noted.

Of course he tried to act like he didn't, though, like he hadn't just reacted the way he did. "Go away, Isabel," he muttered.

"I wonder what he was buying," she said. "A ring, perhaps?"

He slammed his book shut, clearly growing agitated. "You really think he's gonna ask her to marry him?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. I just thought I'd warn you so you have the proper time to rehearse not being jealous about it."

"I'm not jealous," he denied.

"You're also not a very good liar."

"Well, what do you expect, Is? I hate the guy. Of course I don't want her marrying him."

"Yet it was okay for you to get engaged to Sarah?" She tilted her head to the side questioningly. "Double standard much?"

"That's different," he insisted. "Sarah's an amazing person. Max is a creep."

"Sarah's an amazing person who couldn't hold your interest," she reminded him.

"Just like you," he bit out harshly. "Although you were never really that amazing."

 _Nice, Michael,_ she thought, narrowing her eyes at him angrily. It would have been great to have some witty comeback lined up for that one, but, when he said something like that, something that touched on her deepest insecurities . . . what was she supposed to say?

"Just thought you'd wanna know," she mumbled, getting to her feet. Whether he believed her or not, she really was just trying to do him a favor. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a relationship blindside, and she didn't wish that on anyone. Not even him.

...

A minute before class was set to start, Michael finally showed up. He didn't stroll in with his usual confidence or swagger, though. He actually looked a little . . . uneasy.

"Cuttin' it kinda close, huh?" Maria teased as he came back to his seat.

He bent down but didn't sit down. "Come with me," he said, his voice low and insistent.

Her eyebrows arched upward in surprise. Was this what she thought it was? Because . . . they'd been planning to save that until after class.

She followed him out of the room right as the professor started teaching, and he brought her down the hallway into their favorite empty classroom.

"Michael, we really should be in there," she said, worried about how much class she was missing, and more importantly, how much class _he_ was missing because of her. "He's reviewing for the final."

Michael didn't seem to care. But he didn't seem to be in a frisky mood, either, which was . . . strange. "Is Max gonna propose to you?" he blurted.

"What?" she gasped. What in the . . . where had _that_ come from?

"Because Isabel said-"

"Isabel?" she cut in. "You talk to Isabel now?"

"Occasionally, never by choice. Look, she said she saw him at a jewelry store today. What if he's . . ." He trailed off, his shoulders slumped with hopelessness.

 _Oh god_. It hurt her heart to see him so desperate for answers, but at least she could give him a reassuring one. "He's buying a necklace for his mom," she explained. "For Mother's Day." He'd told her that morning that he was going to swing by. They'd talked about it over breakfast.

"Oh." He looked down at his feet, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "I feel stupid now."

"No, it's . . ." It wasn't something he needed to feel stupid about. As much as she hated to admit it . . . it was probably a legitimate concern.

"But what if he did ask?" Michael went on, fear still coating every word. "What would you say?"

"Michael-" She didn't even want to think about that.

"Because you told me once that you'd say yes, but that was before we . . ."

She shook her head, knowing there was no way she could lie to Max in _that_ way. If things went that far, then it was too far. Cheating on him was bad enough, but she wasn't going to accept his proposal when she knew that she didn't really want it. "I wouldn't say yes," she assured him. There was no way that word would cross her lips.

"But would you be able to say no?" He frowned, as if he already anticipated her answer.

She tried to picture herself saying _that_ word, breaking Max's heart, watching it shatter right in front of her . . .

"He's not gonna propose," she said, almost to herself rather than to him. "You don't have to worry." She wasn't going to let it get to that point. She'd work up the courage by then to be honest with him.

"I do, though," he confessed, his voice trembling with emotion. "I worry all the time, Maria."

She blinked back tears. "Why? You know how I feel about you."

"But I still worry." He pressed his lips together tightly, looking past her as he shook his head. "I worry what would happen if he proposed, or if you guys had another kid." He swallowed hard as his honest anxiety came pouring through, and she wondered just how hard he had to work to keep this hidden from her on a daily basis. "I mean, those are things _I_ want with you, Maria. So I'm . . . terrified."

She didn't want to terrify him. And she didn't want to lead Max on. Yet that was exactly what she was doing. She was harming two of the people who were most important to her.

"I feel like it'd be so easy for me to lose you," he said, tears shimmering in his eyes. "Again."

She gazed at him remorsefully, hating that she was the one to make him feel this way. It wasn't nice to know that she was the one who made his life more difficult, more complicated, more dramatic. She felt bad that he worried so much about her, about them, especially since he'd given her no reason to worry in return. He was all in.

"You're not gonna lose me," she told him, moving in close to him, reaching up to touch his cheek. "I promise." There would be no dramatic drive away from him this time. Even though she hadn't quite proved it yet, she was all in, too.

...

Billy leaned back in the computer chair, clasping his hands behind his head, a satisfied smirk on his face. "There you go. Music Appreciation 2. Two-hundred questions. Nice."

"Perfect," Max said, eyeing the document on the screen. "Thank you." Billy had proven to be a worthy accomplice. He'd claimed to be able to get the answer key without problem, and he'd delivered. Plus, it had been his idea to access it straight from Maria and Max's own computer. That way, just in case the university was able to track down where it had been downloaded, it would still lead straight to her.

Billy clicked the mouse to print the answer key and stood up. "So now what, I just get to sit back and watch the fireworks?"

"Pretty much." Max pulled out two twenties and handed them over. It wasn't much, but . . . hell, why not? The kid deserved it.

Billy pocketed the money, then held out his fist for a bump. "Fuck this bitch, man."

Max knocked his fist against Billy's, vowing, "I will." Before they could delight too much in their imminent success, though, Max heard the front door open, and Maria called his name as she entered.

"Max?"

"Oh, shit," he swore, quickly retrieving the answer key from the printer. He slid it into the top desk drawer, knowing he'd have to hide it better later. "Out the window."

"What?" Billy yelped.

"Crawl out the fuckin' window now." He practically dragged Billy over to it, pushed it open, and shoved him out head first. He landed on the ground with a thud.

Maria came into the bedroom right as he was shutting the window. "Hey," she said. "You're home early."

Oh, the irony of _that_ particular statement almost made him sick to his stomach, but he managed a complacent smile somehow. "You, too."

...

Since Jesse had given her full production reign over their final video, Isabel was determined to do it right down to the most minute detail. Everything had to be sensual rather than sexual, charming rather than vulgar. She was probably annoying him with all the nitpicking, but he was just going to need to understand where she was coming from. This last video of theirs . . . it had to tell a story. Not just a cheesy sex story. A _love_ story.

"Okay, but the lighting has to be softer," she told him as he played around with the dimmer in their bedroom. "Like more romantic."

"Like this?" he asked, bringing it down to a near candlelit glow.

"Yeah, that's better."

"It won't film well," he told her.

 _I don't care,_ she wanted to say, but she decided to compromise. "Okay, just a little brighter then."

From behind her, Courtney's voice rang out. "What are you guys doing?"

Isabel spun around, not entirely surprised to find her best and only friend standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a too-tight Aggies t-shirt and a thong.

"Isabel's directing," Jesse told her.

"It's the last hurrah," Isabel added. "Is that officially what we're calling it?"

Jesse shrugged. "If you want."

She beamed a smile at him. Finally, at long last, it was all about what _she_ wanted.

"What's going on?" Courtney asked again.

"Well, um, Courtney . . ." Isabel slipped out into the hallway, pulling her friend with her. "Listen, you should know what's up," she said, regretting that she hadn't told her sooner. She'd told Alex and Liz, after all, but that was because she knew for sure that they'd be happy for her. "This is the last movie I'm gonna make," she revealed, hoping to get some support from Courtney, too. "Ever."

Courtney wrinkled her face in confusion. "You're quitting?"

"Yeah."

"And Jesse's okay with that?"

Jesse didn't need to be okay with it—it was her decision. But still, it was nice that he was. "Yeah, he totally respects my decision."

Courtney snorted. "That's surprising."

"But nothing else is gonna change," Isabel assured her quickly. If the situation were reversed and Courtney was the one leaving the business, she knew she might feel a little on edge. "You and Eric are still gonna be my friends, and Jesse's still gonna be my boyfriend. And I'm still gonna live here."

That didn't seem to make Courtney feel much better, though. If anything, that confused look on her face intensified. "Why would you quit, Isabel?" she asked, as though quitting were something unfathomable.

Then again . . . maybe it was. To her.

"Because I need to," she explained, feeling like she was at a crossroads in her life. If she didn't quit now, then she probably never would. "It's just time to move forward. You know?"

Courtney hung her head, pouting. "No," she replied honestly. "I don't know."

Isabel gazed at her sympathetically, feeling her heart go out to her. It was tragic, in a way, that Courtney was just stuck. This was her life, and it probably always would be. There was no moving forward for her.

...

The sound of running water could only mean one thing.

Max slipped into the bathroom as steam rose up from the shower. Quickly, he stripped himself of his clothing and pulled back the curtain.

"Oh, Max!" Maria gasped, immediately covering herself up. "You scared me."

 _I_ scared _you_? he wondered. _Or just disappointed you?_ "Who else would be joining you in the shower?" he asked as he stepped in with her. He shut the curtain and got close enough so that the water pouring down on her was pouring down on him, too, and put his hands on her waist. "Dylan's asleep," he hinted.

It was hard not to notice her tense up as she turned her back towards him, pretending to be all interested in adjusting the temperature of the water. "I'm almost done in here," she said.

"No, stay." It wasn't that he wanted to have sex with her as much as it was that he wanted to see if she'd be able to have sex with him. Again. She'd already done it the other night. Hadn't cum, though. She'd probably never cum with him again.

He looked down, appreciating the view of her backside, and smoothed his hands over it. "I thought we could try . . . something different." Bending his knees a bit, he pressed his semi-hard cock against her ass, giving her a not so subtle hint.

She jerked forward, whirling around. A decided "No," was all she said.

"No?" He hadn't expected her to go for it, but . . . damn, that was adamant.

"Sorry, I . . . I don't do that," she sputtered awkwardly. It was as if she couldn't get out of there fast enough then, because she literally pushed past him and stepped over the edge of the tub, still dripping wet. She quickly bent down and grabbed her towel, wrapping it around herself as she scurried out of the bathroom.

Max stepped further under the water, pressing both his hands against the wall. _She does that,_ he thought, growing evermore accustomed to picking up on her lies. _She just doesn't do that with me._

...

A few months ago, Jake hadn't been able to sit in the lunchroom and eat without yelling and screaming and drawing attention to himself. Now, he didn't even need to have an adult sitting with him to be able to do that. It was some pretty damn remarkable progress, rivaled only by the fact that he now had some other boys sitting with him.

Michael stood back and watched proudly as Dylan led his friends to Jake's table. He said hi to Jake, and they all set their trays down and sat down around him. An actual circle of friends.

Vanessa sidled up to him and noticed the same thing. "That's nice to see," she commented.

"Yeah," he agreed, getting a kick out of how Dylan and Luke immediately started swapping food items. They didn't even have to speak to know what they were willing to give up and what the other wanted. A kindergarten bromance. Nice.

"They're good kids," Vanessa said.

"Let's just hope they stay that way." Michael really wished he could know what adults had been saying about him back when he'd been in kindergarten. Had they had some hope for him? Or had they just always assumed he'd turn out to be a miserable failure of a man?

"I'm really impressed with Dylan," Vanessa went on. "He's a good little leader."

Michael smiled. "He's awesome." There was probably nothing that kid couldn't do well if he put his mind to it.

"Hard to believe the year's coming to an end, isn't it?" Vanessa remarked.

"Yep. It's gone fast." Michael was pretty sure he wasn't going to know what to do with himself this summer. Sure, he'd still work for housing, and maybe he'd make an attempt to get on the Aggies football team. But other than that, his schedule would pretty much be open.

Scratch that then. He knew _exactly_ what he was going to do with his time. And who he was going to do it with.

"Hopefully I can lure you back next year," Vanessa hinted.

"Oh, definitely. I've enjoyed it." It worked out that he'd found a job he liked that would also look impressive on his résumé. "Thanks for giving me a chance."

"And a second chance," she reminded him.

Yeah, he had almost blown it all to smithereens when he'd laid into Max's face, hadn't he? "And that."

Their conversation was cut short when Dylan got up from the table and scampered over. "Hey, Micho?" he said, looking up curiously. "Can I talk to you?"

Michael glanced at Vanessa for her approval, but she just nodded encouragingly. "Sure," he said. He started out of the lunchroom, motioning with his head for Dylan to follow.

They walked around the halls together, and Dylan started telling him about what he was going to do this summer. It sounded like he'd be busier than Michael was.

"So baseball, huh?" Michael said. "That'll be fun. Baseball's not bad."

"Did you play?" Dylan asked.

"Yeah, but I was always better at football."

"I love football."

Michael smiled, loving that he loved it so much. "Good. It's the manliest sport." There was a reason why the NFL was as popular as it was, and why college football dominated so much ESPN coverage. America was obsessed with the sport and the guys who played it. "You gonna do any football camps this summer?"

"No," Dylan mumbled, looking down at his feet as he walked. "My dad wants me to go to basketball."

"Like basketball camp?" Michael made a face. "That sounds . . . awful." What the hell was the appeal of dribbling down a court just to try to swish a ball through the net? It was so pointless. Glancing down at Dylan, he could see that he felt the same way about it, so he concluded, "That's what you wanted to talk to me about, right?"

"Yep."

 _Alright, counselor time,_ Michael thought. Dylan may have been an awesome kid, but like any boy his age, he needed advice on how to handle things sometimes. "So you don't wanna go."

"No."

"Have you told your dad?"

Dylan shrugged. "Not really."

"Not really? Well, you gotta tell him. Or tell your mom and she can tell him." He thought of all the things Maria _wasn't_ telling Max, though, and then amended, "Actually, it's probably just best for you to tell him yourself."

"But what if he gets sad?" Dylan sounded genuinely concerned about his dad, which was pretty impressive for a kid his age. Most kindergarteners didn't really consider other people's feelings yet, because they were so focused on their own.

"Well, if he gets sad, he gets sad," Michael said. "That's alright. You gotta be honest. Sometimes you just gotta tell people the truth, even if it hurts their feelings." The irony of what he was saying was not lost on him. It was the kid-friendly version of what he'd been saying to Maria for months now.

Dylan stopped in the middle of the hall, scrunching his face up contemplatively, and then he gave Michael a big, affirmative nod. "Okay, I'll tell him," he decided. "Thanks, Daddy."

His stomach clenched.

Dylan realized what he'd said right away, and he dropped his head and mumbled, "Oops, sorry," as he kicked at the carpet.

"Hey." Michael knelt down in front of him. "Look at me."

Dylan lifted his head, and he had this worried look in his eyes, like he feared he was going to get in trouble or something, just for saying that one word.

"You don't ever have to apologize for callin' me that," Michael told him. He'd never grow tired of being Daddy to Dylan, and he'd never have it in his heart to correct him. Not when it was something that didn't need correcting.

Dylan smiled in relief and held out his arms for a hug. Michael embraced him, longing for the day when he could just _be_ Daddy. No conflict, no controversy attached. He wanted it, more than anything.


	78. Chapter 78

The housing department always held an annual celebration the first week of May, sort of an end of the year celebration for all their employees. It was always in the Vidorra lounge, and it was always pretty boring until they started handing out the awards with scholarships attached.

It was a little more exciting for Michael this year now that Maria worked there, too. She showed up, thankfully, without Max in tow, so it was easy to spend time with her that evening. They mingled, making sure to stay close enough that they didn't lose track of each other but far enough apart that they didn't look like a couple. By the time they took a seat at one of the tables for the awards, though, Michael felt like he could barely keep his hands off of her.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," Brody began as he got up behind a podium. "It's that time of the evening now where I'd like to give some special recognition to the staff members who went above and beyond this year. Your contributions to our university's housing system have definitely not gone unnoticed. So with that in mind, the first award for Outstanding R.A. goes to . . ."

Michael pretty much tuned him out as he announced the winner. His eyes drifted over to the beautiful girl sitting next to him. Damn, she looked good. She had on this black strapless dress, and her hair was down and wavy over her shoulders.

"What?" she asked him quietly when she caught him staring at her.

"You look pretty," he told her.

Just as she always did whenever he complimented her appearance, she blushed. "This is Liz's dress," she admitted.

"I like it." The strapless thing was a nice surprise, and he was digging how short it was, too.

As Brody continued on with the awards, Michael couldn't help but grow . . . restless. If he didn't get his hands on her soon, he was going to go crazy. So he scooted his chair a little closer to her, leaned forward, and lowered one hand beneath the table. First he just reached over and set it on her knee, then moved it back a little further to rub against her thigh. Her skin was so warm, though, that he longed to feel something even hotter, so he subtly slipped his hand underneath her dress in between her legs.

She gasped.

 _No underwear._ He grinned. _Perfect._

She didn't object as he touched her, right there in a room filled with dozens of other people. To her credit, she managed to stay pretty fucking calm and collected. She sat up a little straighter than she normally would have, and every once in a while, her eyes would flutter shut. But she'd quickly open them again, pretending to be focused on what was going on.

God, it was such a rush to get away with this.

Few things could have diverted his attention from the task at hand, but when Brody transitioned, "And now for our Outstanding Returning Employee award . . ." Michael snapped his hands back up to the surface, linked them together, and murmured, "Oh, please, please, please," shutting his eyes in prayer. If he got this, he'd get a two-thousand dollar scholarship. And he _really_ needed scholarships for next year.

"This year the award goes to . . ." Brody drew it out for dramatic effect. "Spencer Burman."

Everyone else clapped as Spencer went up to the podium, but Michael didn't. "What?" he spat, outraged. _Spencer?_ That kid was such a dick.

"Thanks, Brody," Spencer said, nudging him aside. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. "If you don't mind, I have a speech prepared."

Brody did mind, though. He had to keep this thing moving. "Oh, actually-"

With total disregard for his boss, Spencer launched right in. "To some, housing may just be a two-syllable word."

Michael rolled his eyes in contempt. What an arrogant son of a bitch.

Thank God Maria had the boldness to lean over and quietly ask, "Can we go upstairs?" Because he needed something good to take his mind off of losing out on this award.

"You don't wanna stay for the New Employee award?" he asked. At the rate Spencer was going, it'd probably be another hour before Brody got around to presenting it, but hey, he could finger the hell out of her until then.

"Oh, please," she scoffed, "there's no way I'm winning that."

Yeah, she probably wasn't. Their time would be much better spent together in his apartment than it would be down here with all of these people. "Let's go," he said, getting up. They both tried to be quiet and inconspicuous as they slipped past all the other tables and walked out in the midst of Spencer's monologue. Michael caught Brody giving him an inquisitive look, though.

It was worth it to leave early. Being alone with Maria felt like being in heaven.

They kept the lights off, so he could only see a silhouette of her standing by the window. He stood in front of her, watching her delicate fingers as they unbuttoned his shirt from the top down. She pulled his shirt open, and he shrugged it off, letting it drop to the floor. Her hands splayed against his chest for a moment, then slid lower to roam over his abs. As they hovered dangerously close to his groin, he gave her a small, encouraging nod. Eyes fixated on the ever-growing bulge he felt happening, she unfastened his pants, but she didn't take his cock out. Instead, she turned around, pulling all her hair over her right shoulder, glancing back at him over her left.

He moved in closer, using this thumb and index finger to pull down on her dress's zipper. The smooth skin of her back came into view, and his whole body tingled in anticipation. God, he wanted to have his hands all over her.

He slid her whole dress down for her, and she stepped out of it eagerly. Since the last item to rid her of was her bra, he wrapped his arms around her stomach, caressed her flesh insistently, and then snaked his hands upward to undo the front clasp. It fell to the floor, and her breasts fell into his awaiting hands. She leaned back against him, her head on his shoulder, moans escaping from low in her throat as he squeezed and kneaded them beneath his fingers. Her nipples were already pert and hard, desiring his attention.

He spun her around so he could bend down and use his mouth to lavish them with adoration. Alternating between sucking kisses and gentle licks and nips, he got the exact reaction he wanted. She arched her chest up into his mouth, tossing her head back as she got lost in the ecstasy.

Greed got the best of him, though, and he wanted more. So he sank down even lower, onto his knees. He urged her legs further apart and slipped his head in between them so he could get a taste of her. She was wet from the fingering he'd started earlier, and she got even wetter the instant his mouth made contact.

While he was thoroughly tonguing her, he found himself reaching down to free his cock from its confines. He stroked up and down his hard length, wishing he could replicate the feel of being inside of her. But nothing felt as good as that. Nothing even came close.

When she saw what he was doing, she got down to her knees, too, reached forward, and replaced his hand with her own, handling him expertly. He didn't want to cum on her hand, though. He wanted to cum in her body.

They made it to the bed, and naturally, he found himself on top of her, comfortably nestled between her legs as he rolled his hips forward and moved into her. The pressure surrounding his cock felt so damn good that, with every thrust, he tried to push in just a little deeper, trying to bury himself in her so far that he might not ever find his way back out.

He kept his pace steady, not too slow, but not frantic, either. Every time she moaned or inhaled sharply, he knew he was doing something right. He didn't need overly graphic dirty talk to know that she liked when he reached down and grabbed her ass, or appreciated when he took the time to rain hot kisses down on the side of her neck. Her body responded to his in the exact way a woman's body was supposed to respond to a man's, and it turned him on so fucking much.

His hand linked with hers, next to her head, fingers intertwining, holding on tight as their breathing became labored and skin began to sweat more. He kept his gaze fixed on her, refusing to look away as her face contorted in pleasure. She came hard, her release triggering his own, and he could have sworn he went somewhere else as spent himself inside her. Somewhere where the rest of the world didn't exist, where this _was_ the world.

It was his _whole_ world.

...

The shadier the neighborhood, the crappier the streetlights. The road Max was driving on became progressively darker as he neared his destination.

Dylan had called a few minutes earlier from Luke's house. Apparently Luke's mom had cooked some huge, extravagant dinner, and she was more than willing to let him stay there a little while longer, even though it was a school night. Worked for Max. He had things to do tonight anyway, things that Dylan couldn't be around for.

"Alright, you make sure you tell Luke's mom thanks for the dinner," Max reminded his son. "And tell her I'll be by in about an hour to pick you up. Alright?"

"Okay," Dylan chirped. "Hey, Dad? Sorry about basketball camp, by the way."

Max frowned inwardly, though he admired his son's honesty. They'd talked about it on the way home from school today. "You don't have to be sorry," he told him. "It's fine. I'll see you later, alright?"

"Bye, Dad."

"Bye." Max ended the call and pocketed his phone as he turned a corner.

He had to park a few blocks away, just to be on the safe side. He didn't need his vehicle showing up on any surveillance videos of local businesses. He tossed a sweatshirt hood over his head and meandered down the sidewalk as if he walked these streets all the time. Nobody who passed him even took a second glance at him, and he eventually slipped into an alley behind a taco restaurant without any fear of getting caught.

A slender male figure emerged from the shadows, peeking over Max's shoulder. "You good?" he asked.

"Yeah." No one had followed him.

The man reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out a small bag of cocaine. It wasn't more than a couple of grams, and it must have been a shitty quality, because he wasn't even asking that much money for it. "This what you want?" he asked.

"Yep." Max took five twenties out of his pocket and handed them over in exchange for the drugs.

"Wait a minute." The dealer squinted his eyes and peered at Max more closely. "I know you. Max Evans, right?"

He bristled, alarmed that he'd been recognized.

"I used to buy from you, back in Albuquerque. Man, you always sold the best stuff."

Max relaxed instantly. This guy was still a nobody. It didn't matter if he recognized him. Who the hell would he even tell?

"You still dealin'?"

"Nope," he replied. "Not usin', either."

The dealer wrinkled his face in confusion, glancing pointedly down at the cocaine in Max's hand.

Max shoved the bag in the pocket of his sweatshirt, grinning smugly. "It's not for me."

...

Effortlessly, it seemed, Michael fell asleep after they were done having sex that night. He spooned up behind her, shut his eyes, and within seconds, he was out. But Maria was on the opposite end of the spectrum: wide awake. And not by choice. It was just that her mind was racing and wouldn't allow her to find the same rest he was.

She watched the clock on the nightstand, counting to sixty in her head over and over again as the red numbers ticked upward. 11:58. 11:59. By the time it switched to 12:00, her stomach started to knot up. Because it was officially a new a day, and where was she? Warmly tucked away in Michael's bed, in Michael's arms.

How could anything that was so wrong still feel so right?

 _Get up,_ she told herself. _You have to go._ She'd been thinking the same thoughts for the past fifteen minutes, yet she'd barely moved a muscle.

Eventually, the clock switched to 12:01.

When she turned over onto her back, Michael stirred, but he still didn't wake up. He was probably exhausted from having worked all day and . . . well, fucked all night. She gazed up at him, adoring the innocent look on his face. Michael Guerin was _not_ innocent by any definition of the word, but when he was asleep, he somehow managed to look that way.

"Michael?" she said, rolling over onto her side so she could face him.

"Hmm," he murmured.

"Michael, wake up." Too much was going through her mind right now. She needed to talk to him.

"I'm tired," he groaned, eyes still shut.

So was she, but in a different way. She was tired of lying, of sneaking around, of being this horrible person she felt like she'd become. "I think . . ." She took a deep breath and then let it all out in one big rush. "I think I'm gonna tell Max."

That was all it took for his eyes to snap open. In a split second, he went from a guy who was tired to a guy who was completely alert. "You mean . . . _tell_ him?" he questioned emphatically.

"Yeah." She dreaded the thought, but it had to be done. "I'm gonna tell him everything." She felt an unexpected sense of conviction when she said that, an overwhelming belief that this was the right thing to do, even if she was doing it late.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he reigned it in. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Because . . ." She reached out and put one hand on his chest, over his heart. "It's midnight."

He frowned, perplexed.

"It's late. I should leave," she stated matter-of-factly. "I should've left an hour ago, actually. But . . ." She inhaled shakily and confessed, "I can't leave. I feel like I can't leave this bed." Beneath the covers, she wrapped her legs up with his, craving the closeness. "I can't keep doing it, Michael. I can't keep leaving you. I don't want to."

He stroked her hair lovingly and said, "I don't want you to, either."

Even the simplest touch made her quiver with delight. At this rate, it'd be 2:00 before she made it home. "So that's why I'm gonna tell him. And I know it's gonna be really hard."

"Yeah," he agreed, wrapping his arms around her. His whole body felt so warm against hers, and that made her feel safe and protected. "You nervous?"

She swallowed hard, nodding. "You were right to tell Sarah when you did. I shouldn't have let it drag out like this. It only makes it worse." She felt like such a coward for the way she'd chosen to handle all of this. There were so many mistakes she'd made, but she couldn't take them back. All she could do now was try her best moving forward.

"I think it's the right decision," Michael said supportively. And of course he thought that; he'd been advocating for it all along.

"He's gonna hate me," she fretted, already bracing herself for Max's reaction.

"But I'll still love you," Michael reminded her. "I'll always love you."

In that moment . . . that felt like the sweetest thing in the world. She stretched upward, and he bent his head downward, and their lips met in the simplest of kisses, one that still managed to give her butterflies. That love that he felt for her was the same as what she felt for him. And it was because she felt it so strongly that she finally knew she could do this.

...

The housing party—if there had actually even been one—was clearly done by the time Max pulled into the Vidorra parking lot. It was practically empty, yet Maria's car was still there.

He pulled into the empty space next to it and glanced up three floors at the window to the apartment he knew to be Michael's. It was dark inside but safe to assume that they were still going at it like the world was ending.

A pair of drunken co-eds and their boyfriends staggered by, so Max waited until they were out of sight before getting out of his car and walking over to Maria's. He punched in the numbered passcode to unlock the door and sat down in the driver's seat. He reached over to pull open her glove compartment, but he caught sight of something on the passenger's seat, illuminated by the parking lot lights.

 _Oh, you've gotta be kidding me,_ he thought, picking up the small scrap of black fabric that somehow passed as underwear. Maria must've been _really_ thirsty to go inside without that.

He set the underwear back down and focused on the task at hand. Glancing over both shoulders quickly, he made sure no one was in close proximity and then took the small plastic bag of coke out of his sweatshirt. He stashed it in her glove box, behind a flashlight and a half-empty bottle of hand sanitizer. Then he shut it firmly, got back out of the car, and slammed the door shut.

 _Sweet dreams, Maria,_ he thought, glaring up at the window to Michael's apartment again.

...

The last day of Music Appreciation 2 was pretty much the worst. They all had to spread out and put a few empty seats in between them for the final, and it was a bitch of a final. Twenty pages, two-hundred questions. Barely any multiple choice. _Lots_ of fill in the blank, and there wasn't even a word bank provided. Michael knew he was fucked from the first question onward.

He cast a glance at Maria out of the corner of his eyes, impressed to see her pencil moving at light speed. She looked significantly more prepared than he was, which made him feel simultaneously proud and envious.

When she noticed him watching her, she looked over at him and smiled. He smiled back.

Only because he was guessing his ass off, Michael finished before his girl, and he had to sit out in the hall and wait for her to be done. She emerged about fifteen minutes after he had finished, and together they headed outside.

"Well, that sucked," he declared.

"I thought it went okay."

"I bombed it, I'm sure," he predicted. "That's what I get for takin' a music class."

"One you didn't even need to take," she reminded him.

"But wanted to take. For you. So that's romantic."

"Hmm . . . kinda desperate."

"In a romantic way. Yeah, that's what I thought."

She giggled, bumping into him playfully.

"So you think you did alright, though, huh?" he said.

"Yeah, I studied a lot of that stuff."

He grunted. "Not with me you didn't." Truth be told, even though they'd _tried_ to study together, they just hadn't gotten much done.

"No, with . . . with Max," she mumbled, looking down at her feet. It had gotten to the point where even just saying his name seemed to fill her with shame.

"Right." Leave it to Saint Max to be the success secret. He refrained from saying much, though, just because he knew it was a sensitive subject for her right now. "So did you decide _when_ you're gonna tell him?"

She nodded, leaning into him as a kid—or possibly professor—on a skateboard flew past. "The end of the week, I think. After you're done with all your finals. Does that sound like a plan?"

He would have preferred sooner, but logically, that made sense. It would be a shit-storm of drama, surely, so it was better to have all his finals out of the way by then. "Fine by me."

Since Maria legitimately had to work for a few hours that afternoon, Michael was left with plenty of time on his hands. Time he knew he should use to study, or at least be productive in _some_ way. There were numerous piles of dishes in his sink just begging to be washed and laundry piled up on the floor of the closet. But if he was being honest with himself, he knew he'd find some excuse to not do any of those things.

The first excuse came in the form of a phone call from his mom. He flopped down on his bed and answered it, hoping she wasn't going to ask him to come home this weekend. With everything going on, that would just be bad timing.

"Hi, honey," she said when he answered. "Oh, you're not in the middle of an exam, are you?"

"Would I be answering the phone if I was?" he pointed out.

"Right, right. You had one today, though, right?"

"Yep." And he didn't want to talk about it.

Unfortunately, she asked, "How'd it go?"

He sighed and sat up, raking one hand through his hair. "Not so great."

"Really?"

"Look, Mom, realistically, none of my finals are gonna go well this semester," he informed her.

"Well, what does that mean for your scholarships then?" she asked, her voice taking on a slightly shrill, panicked tone.

"I might lose some of 'em," he confessed. The ones with a lower GPA requirement would still be maintainable, but . . .

"And you're just okay with that?" she shrieked. "I don't understand, Michael. I thought school was a higher priority for you nowadays. What changed?"

"Nothing." He wasn't about to blame Maria. It wasn't her fault that he'd slacked off.

"Obviously something has."

"It's just . . ." He had no one to blame but himself, and quite honestly, he was at peace with it. "Other stuff matters more."

There was a slight pause, and then a concerned, "What other stuff, Michael?"

Oh, that was something he did _not_ want to get into right now. Thankfully, there was a knock on the door, so he had a chance to escape from answering. "Hey, I gotta go. Someone's here," he told her. "I'll talk to you later, alright?" Without waiting for a response, he ended the call, flung his phone aside, and got up to go get the door.

Kyle came right in, talking excitedly. "Hey, so I had a vision," he announced. "You, me, football field. For every pass you drop, you have to answer a psychology question. What do you say?"

Michael shut the door, only managing a "Yeah," in response. He just wasn't in the right headspace right now to muster up the same enthusiasm his friend had.

" 'cause I just thought, two birds with one stone, you know?" Kyle went on, as if he sensed he'd need to do some more convincing. "We work on psych and football at the same time. 'cause you should be doin' both next year."

Michael nodded quietly. Man, Kyle was . . . a really good friend. A hell of a lot better of a friend than he probably deserved.

"What's that look for?" Kyle asked suddenly.

"What look?"

"That one."

Michael made a face. "I wasn't giving you a look."

"No, you were." Kyle sat down on the arm of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. "Come on, spit it out."

 _Damn,_ Michael thought, resigned to talking about some stuff he'd gotten so used to keeping inside. Kyle knew him too well to just let it go, and honestly, if there was one person he should tell first, this was that person. It would be like a test-run for telling everyone else. It might do him some good.

"Alright, I gotta tell you somethin'," Michael confessed, warning him, "You're not gonna like it, but I want you to hear it from me."

Kyle stood up slowly, his posture suddenly very tense, wary.

Michael exhaled heavily, working up the words. "Maria and I . . ."

As if he already knew where it was headed, Kyle shook his head, muttering, "Don't say it."

He said it anyway, because it needed to be said. "We've been sleepin' together."

Kyle kept shaking his head, looking away from Michael now. His jaw was clenched, and he looked . . . pretty fucking pissed, actually. "Dammit," he swore. "Dammit, man, why would you . . ." He squeezed his hands into fists for a moment, then relaxed them. "How long?"

Too long for his liking, but . . . it was what it was at this point. "Since Sarah and I broke up."

"This whole—this _whole_ time?" Kyle spat incredulously. "Well, no wonder your grades are shit then. That explains it."

"It's gotten . . . pretty intense," he admitted, not sure where they were going from here. They didn't exactly have a plan in mind, but if he had his way, they'd be living together soon enough.

"Oh, I can't believe you, man," Kyle ground out disappointedly. "How could you do that?"

"I'm in love with her, Kyle." At the end of the day, how could he _not_?

"But you told me it was over. You said it was just gonna be the one time. And I believed you. I mean, I knew you still had feelings for her, but . . . an _affair_ , man? Really? You'd stoop that low?"

"I didn't mean to . . . stoop."

"Well, you did," Kyle growled angrily. "And you lied to me."

"I didn't mean to do that, either," he insisted. "I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't."

"There shouldn't have even been anything to tell!" Kyle roared. "Cheating on Sarah was bad enough, but then to _continue_ cheating when you know damn well Maria's with Max . . ."

"She's gonna break up with him," Michael made sure to interject.

"That doesn't matter!"

"Look, I didn't want this, okay? I wanted her to break up with him right from the start, but she didn't want to."

"No, no, don't do that," Kyle said, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Don't try to lay all the blame on her. Maybe that was her idea, but you went along with it. You guys _both_ messed up."

"Well, that's what I do, Kyle," Michael reminded him. "I mess up all the fuckin' time."

"No, that's what you _did_ in high school," Kyle corrected adamantly. "But you're not in high school anymore. You're better than that." Grunting, rolling his eyes, he added, "Or at least you should be."

Michael sighed, nodding reluctantly in agreement. "I'm sorry," he apologized, understanding why his friend felt betrayed by all of this. It was a lie of omission, and sometimes those were the worst. "I know I screwed up; I know it was wrong," he admitted. "But I just wanted you to know about it before it all comes out and shit hits the fan."

"So you haven't told anyone else?" Kyle asked.

"No." Maybe that would at least be some consolation, that, out of all the people he could have talked to about this first, he'd chosen Kyle and nobody else.

"Well, good luck telling Tess," Kyle said warningly. "And your mom. And Tina." He waited a moment, then added, "And Sarah."

Michael's stomach tightened up with dread. _Sarah._ Shit, he hadn't even thought about that conversation. Nobody would be more disappointed than she was. Nobody would be more disgusted with him. He'd already let her down so much these past few months, and this was just going to make it worse. He'd promised her that there would be no affair, and that was the only reason why she hadn't said anything to Max. She was going to feel even more betrayed than Kyle did. And rightfully so.

...

"So he was really mad, huh?" Maria shoved a stack of Dylan's t-shirts into the appropriate drawer and picked up the laundry basket as she walked out of the room.

"Yeah. Well, more like disappointed," Michael amended as he followed her. "I felt like I was talkin' to my dad."

She stopped at the end of the hall and gave him a curious look.

"Well, not _my_ dad, but an actual good dad. So that bodes well for him, I guess."

She set the laundry basket back down on the floor, leaning back against the wall, biting her already worn-down fingernails. "God, that makes me nervous," she fretted. "If even Kyle reacts that badly, how's everyone else gonna react?"

"Yeah, it's not gonna be pretty," he mumbled.

"He's not gonna say anything, though, right?"

"No."

"Because Max needs to hear it from me. I at least owe him that much." The only thing worse than the thought of having to tell Max everything was the thought of someone else doing it for her.

"He won't say anything," Michael promised.

"Who else are you gonna tell?"

He scratched his eyebrow, wincing as though he dreaded having to tell anyone else. "My mom and Teenie."

She nodded, imagining that his mom would be sad and Tina would be furious. "What about Sarah?" That seemed like the obvious omission at this point.

He shifted uncomfortably and shrugged. "I think I'll just let her find out on her own. Same with Tess."

"Oh, god." Just thinking about Tess's reaction scared her. "That girl is going to _kill_ us."

He nodded nonchalantly. "Probably."

"How can you be so calm about all this?"

"I'm not calm; I just know it has to be done," he said. "And it'll all be okay in the end." He moved in close to her, cupping her cheek, and bent down to kiss her. She had to admit . . . one little kiss _did_ sort of make it seem like it would be okay.

As always seemed to happen with them, one kiss quickly morphed into many, and before she knew it, they were full-on making out right there in the hallway. One of her legs came up to wrap around his waist, and his hands moved underneath her ass to hoist her up and pin her back against the wall.

And that was when it happened, one of the worst things that could have possibly happened in that moment: The front door opened, and in came Liz, holding Scarlet's hand.

"Hey, Maria, are you-" She stopped short when she saw the compromising position they were in.

Michael quickly set her down, and she tried to push him away from her, but it was a little too late.

"Sorry," Liz said, covering up Scarlet's eyes. "I didn't mean to just barge in. I should've . . ." She trailed off as the reality of what she was seeing seemed to fully resonate with her. Her eyes widened in horror, and her mouth gaped in shock.

"I can explain," Maria whimpered, but could she really? Could she really _explain_ any of this?

Liz didn't wait around. She lifted Scarlet up and hurried back outside.

"Wait, Liz!" Maria ran after her, catching up to her out at her car. "Liz, hold on a minute!"

Liz helped Scarlet into her car seat, then slammed the car door shut and whirled around. "Oh my _god_ , Maria!" she yelled, hands moving all around in the air dramatically. "What was that?"

"Liz, I'm so sorry," she apologized. "I never meant for you to see that."

"To see what? What did I see?" she demanded heatedly. "Aren't you gonna tell me it's not what it looks like, that it was all just some big misunderstanding?"

A week ago, or maybe even just yesterday, she might have actually attempted to do just that. But there was no point in that now. This whole scandalous chapter of her life was winding down, and Max wasn't the only person she had to be honest with. "No," she squeaked out.

"So then . . ." Liz made a face of disgust. "So then you guys are, like, hooking up or something?"

 _Or something,_ Maria thought. 'Hooking up' sounded way too casual to describe what they were doing.

" _Oh_ my god, oh my _god_!" Liz cried hysterically. "Maria! What's _wrong_ with you? How could you do that?"

"I don't know." She'd wondered the same thing a lot lately.

"How long have you guys been . . ." Liz shook her head vigorously, as if trying to shake the image of what she'd just seen out of her mind. "How many times have you guys done that?"

"A lot." That was going to have to suffice, because there was no way she could keep count.

"What's a lot? Like, five or . . ."

Maria gave her a guilty look.

"Oh my god," Liz said again. She narrowed her eyes at Maria, and clearly the pieces of the puzzle started coming together in her mind. "That's why he broke up with Sarah, isn't it?" she deduced. "Because of you. Because you guys started . . ." She trailed off and shuddered.

"It just happened, Liz. I didn't mean for it to."

"So you've been cheating on Max for months now?" Liz huffed in outrage. "Good God, Maria, how could you do that to him? After _everything_ he's done for you, to be with you . . . you just throw it back in his face!"

"Liz, I'm _going_ to tell him. Please don't say anything," she begged. This was quite possibly the worst case scenario. As close as she and Liz were, there wasn't a doubt in her mind that Liz and Max were closer. If there was anyone who would tell him everything without skipping a beat, it was Liz.

"God, I don't even know you right now," Liz growled, stomping around to the other side of the car. She sent Maria another nasty glare, shook her head in contempt, got in, and drove off in a hurry.

Maria wiped away tears she hadn't even been aware were falling as she watched the car disappear out of sight. Had that really just happened?


	79. Chapter 79

Obviously the day was a pretty crazy one when tanking your final exam wasn't the worst part of it. Michael sulked back home that night after many failed attempts at comforting Maria before Max came home. The plan as he knew it was still to wait until the end of the week to tell him, but for all either of them knew, Liz could blow the lid off of things early.

In a way, for him, that would've been a relief.

He trudged to his couch and flopped down, feeling pretty crappy. He'd been texting Kyle all afternoon, but no response. It wasn't fun to know that his best friend was pissed at him and that Maria's best friend probably wasn't her best friend anymore.

 _Might as well get it all over with in the same day,_ he thought, taking his phone out of his pocket. He quickly dialed his mom's number and held the phone up to his ear, contemplating hanging up with each successive ring.

She answered right as her voicemail was about to kick on. "So you decided to call me back," she said.

"Yeah." He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease some of the tension that was building up behind his skull. "Sorry for hangin' up so fast earlier."

"That's okay."

"It's not." He sighed, wishing he'd thought about how to do this in advance. "None of this is okay."

Her voice took on quite possibly the most heartbreakingly supportive tone of all time when she asked, "What's wrong, Michael?"

He shut his eyes, gulping. In some ways, she'd be the easiest person to tell, because she'd always love him and never hate him, no matter what he did. But for that same reason . . . telling her might be harder than telling anyone else.

"Michael?" she said again. Her voice was soft, encouraging.

 _Just do it,_ he told himself. He'd feel better once this huge weight was off his chest. "Mom . . ." He hated to disappoint her, but it was inevitable. In a way, it was all he'd ever done. "I need to tell you something."

There was just silence after that, the kind that made him suspect she probably already knew what was going on.

...

Kyle got home well after dark that evening, but Tess was still sitting up on the couch awake, waiting for him.

"Hey," she said, setting aside the remote control. "You're home late."

"Yeah, I worked out, then went for a run." He took a detour into the kitchen and admitted, "Okay, more of a fast walk, actually. Or a slow jog." Regardless of the pace, it'd been tiring, so he poured himself a glass of water and gulped down a drink.

"Well, I must say, the body is looking pretty on point." She gave him a thumbs up and a smile, and that acknowledgment made him feel ridiculously good about himself.

"Thanks." Even though he had yet to get back to his high school stature—and probably never would—at least she seemed to be feeling physically attracted to him again.

"Here, sit down," she said, patting the empty space next to her on the couch.

"Oh, I should probably jump in the shower first," he said, plucking at his sweat-soaked shirt. "I stink."

"No, come here," she insisted, scooting over a bit to make more room.

Well, there was always the possibility that she was feeling frisky, and even though she'd blown up like a tick these past few months, he definitely wouldn't say no. He sat down next to her, angling his body towards her, looking at her expectantly. "What's up?"

"Well . . ." She took his water from him and took a drink. "I've been doing some thinking. A lot of thinking, actually. About our . . . conundrum."

"Conundrum?" he echoed. What exactly was their conundrum again?

"Yeah. This whole godfather thing."

He nodded wordlessly. Right. That.

This probably wasn't the best day to be thinking about that.

"So I talked to Sarah a lot, and I talked to my parents, and I talked to my older brothers," she revealed. "And when I asked both of them who they thought the godfather would be, you know what they said?" She lowered her voice and mimicked a dumb guy's response. "'Uh, I don't know.'" She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Whatever. I love them both, but clearly they're not the right guys for the job."

"So . . . what're you getting at, Tess?" he asked, sensing where this was going.

"Maybe . . . maybe Michael _is_ the right guy for the job," she mumbled in admittance. "I mean . . . I may not agree with some of the decisions he's made this year, but he's still . . ." She shrugged. "He's still Michael. And I know he's more like a brother to you than a friend. I know he'll treat our kids like family. And as much as I hate to admit it . . ." She sighed, reluctantly muttering, "I actually kinda miss the guy."

He'd figured that much. Lately she'd been slipping in a lot of subtle questions about Michael, about what he was up to, and even though she'd acted like she hadn't really cared, it was obvious she did. Regardless, this was still a shocking turn of events, though, one he hadn't seen coming. "Wow, I'm—I'm really surprised you changed your mind," he said.

"Let's just hope he's done screwing up, Kyle. Because we can't keep giving him all these second chances." She handed his water back to him, and with a great deal of effort involved, pushed herself up off the couch and waddled down the hallway into the bathroom. Probably to pee, because her bladder was the size of a pebble these days.

 _Done screwing up?_ Kyle wondered, frowning. _I wouldn't count on it._ As much as he wanted to just sit back and be happy that Tess had changed her mind, he almost felt more uneasy about it than he had before. Because she didn't yet know what he'd found out today, and once she did . . . well, she'd probably change her mind right back.

...

All night, Maria had been awake on pins and needles, anxiously wondering if Liz would call Max and spill the beans about . . . everything. She took Max's phone off the nightstand, moving it out into the living room so he wouldn't hear it if it rang, and she got out of bed extra early that morning to check and see if he had any missed calls or texts.

Nothing. Thank God.

Even though they'd made it through the night without incident, she knew she had to go see Liz the next day, just to try to sort some things out. It wasn't a conversation she was looking forward to by any means, but it had to be done.

She knocked on the door to Liz's apartment, but no one answered. She knew she was home, though, because she could hear the TV on. So she tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked, and made her way inside. "Liz?" she called.

Scarlet glanced up at her from the middle of the living room floor. She smiled and made some gurgling noise when she saw Maria, then returned her attention to the cartoons on the screen in front of her.

Liz came out of the bedroom a moment later, looking a bit more frazzled than she usually did, like she was running late from work or something. "What're you doing here?" she grumbled as she hastily secured her hair in a ponytail.

"Look, I think we just really need to clear the air."

Liz grunted and shook her head, stomping back down the hall.

"Liz, please," Maria begged, following her friend into the bedroom, where the bed was unmade and there were dozens of different shirts strewn all about.

Whirling around, Liz shrugged and said, "I've lost all respect for you. There. Air cleared."

"Liz . . ."

"What do you want me to say?" she cut in loudly. "I can't even look at you the same way anymore, Maria. I don't even wanna be in the same room with you. I'm so completely . . . _repulsed_ by what you've done."

"Repulsed?" she echoed, thinking that might be a little too dramatic. "Oh, come on, Liz! You hooked up with Michael when he was with Isabel. You're not perfect, either." In a way, if there was anyone who _could_ understand this, shouldn't it have been her?

"But at least I learned from that mistake. At least I would never do it again," Liz argued. "I mean, do you even feel bad about it?"

"Of course I feel bad. I feel horrible."

"Good. You should. Because Max . . ." Her eyes welled up with tears, and her mouth trembled. "He doesn't deserve this. He turned his whole life around for you, you know. He became a better person. I mean, most girls would kill to have a guy do that for them."

"I know, he's been amazing," Maria acknowledged. "It's not his fault. I couldn't have asked for anything more."

"Yet you _wanted_ something more," Liz growled. "You wanted Michael."

How could she explain that it was something beyond want? Want was something you could overcome, bury if you had to. This was on a whole different level. "We just have something," she whimpered, "something undeniable."

"Oh, save it," Liz huffed.

"And I tried—I tried to deny it, believe me. But I couldn't. I just . . . I can't stay away from him. I'm still in love with him."

"Oh my god. That is the most pathetic excuse," Liz declared.

"Look, I know it's hard for you to understand . . ."

"Hard for me to understand?" Liz shrieked, sounding almost . . . offended now. "Are you blind, Maria?"

Maria frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

Liz threw her hands down at her sides and yelled, "I'm in love with Max!"

The shock of that almost knocked her over. "What?"

"I'm in love with him," Liz repeated. "I always have been."

 _Always?_ Maria thought. Immediately, she started thinking back to all their interactions over the years, all the smiles, the hugs. She'd always just assumed that it was a close friendship, a family bond if anything. But had there always been more to it than that for Liz?

"Whenever I'm around him, I feel like I can't think about anything else, and when I'm not around him, I wish I was," Liz revealed in a rush of honesty. "I love him so much, but I would never make a move on him. Because he's with you. He _chose_ you."

 _Oh my god,_ Maria thought, clutching her stomach. She literally felt sick now, not because of Liz's confession, but because . . . because she'd been so oblivious to it. Which meant Liz truly had been a great friend, willing to sacrifice her own wants for the benefit of their blended family.

"God, do you have any idea what it's been like to spend the past two _years_ of my life watching him get closer and closer to you?" Liz cried, tears rolling over onto her cheeks now. "Knowing he's probably gonna marry you someday and there's nothing I can do about it? I mean, do you know what I would give to be you for just one day, Maria? To be there when he gets home from work, to lie next to him in bed at night? I don't . . ." A particularly hard sob made her whole body shake as she struggled to go on. "I don't get to be that person, but you do. And you don't even care!"

"Liz, I . . ." She _did_ care, though. About Max, about Liz, about everyone. "I had no idea."

"Because I kept it a secret," Liz said, but judging by the way everything was pouring out of her mouth right now, it'd been a secret that had weighed on her. "And I would've kept it a secret for the rest of my life if I had to, because I respected his decision to be with you. And I liked you. You really were my friend."

Maria winced, noting the usage of the past tense.

"But that's all over now, so my secret might as well come out. I mean, it's not as scandalous as yours, but . . ." She flapped her arms against her sides. "There it is."

 _There it is,_ Maria thought, feeling . . . oddly relieved, in a way. Knowing that Max wouldn't have to deal with this alone, that Liz would be there for him . . . it was comforting. He needed someone on his side, and clearly Liz was that person. She would always be that person for him.

"I know you think I don't care about him," she said softly, "but I do. I just haven't been brave enough to come clean with him. But I'm going to."

Liz crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at her. "When?"

"Probably tomorrow."

"Probably?"

"Yes." It was happening tomorrow. She was sure of it. Michael had his last final tomorrow, and once that was done and he could afford more distractions in his life . . . she'd do it. No backing out, no backing down this time.

"You'd better," Liz bit out. "Because if you don't tell him everything, then I will. Not because I love him, not because I want him. Because I respect him. And he deserves the truth."

Maria nodded, not doubting that for a second. Liz would not sit back and let this lie continue on much longer, which was actually a good thing. It gave her extra incentive to not chicken out. "Thank you for letting me tell him myself, Liz," she said. Even though it wasn't something she was looking forward to . . . it just had to happen that way.

"Well, what's gonna happen when you do, huh?" Liz questioned. "This is gonna change both your lives. Not to mention Dylan's."

"I know." It wasn't like she hadn't thought about it at all. The next few days were going to be tough on all of them. "We'll have to figure it out."

"You're not gonna try to take Dylan away from him, are you? Because that wouldn't be fair."

"No, of course not. I would never do that." But the fact that Liz would even consider the possibility showed just how fast their friendship had deteriorated over these past twenty-four hours.

"But have you even thought about how this is gonna work?" Liz kept on questioning. "Where's Dylan gonna live? Where are _you_ gonna live? And what about Michael? Do you just expect him to take Max's place? And my god, Maria, what kind of damage is all of this gonna do to Dylan? You can't just keep rotating dads in and out of his life and expect him to adjust to it."

 _That's not what I'm trying to do,_ Maria thought helplessly. That had never been her intention. None of this had been.

"You'd better figure it out," Liz advised sternly, "because if you don't, Dylan's gonna be the one who suffers for it."

Her stomach clenched, a worst fear vocalized by someone she still very much wanted to count as a friend. Dylan's well-being was what mattered the most here, more than anything. More than the pain she was going to cause Max, more than the longing she felt for Michael. All of this anger and hurt and betrayal they were all feeling . . . she didn't want her son to feel any of it. And if he did, she'd never forgive herself.

...

"She's right," Maria rambled anxiously as she accompanied Michael across campus that day, walking with him to his second to last final exam. "Everything's gonna change, everything's gonna be different, and we've barely even thought about it."

"I've thought about it," he claimed, pulling his backpack up higher on his shoulders.

"You have?"

"Yeah."

She waited for more but didn't get any. "And . . .?"

"Well, ideally, you and Dylan and I live happily ever after."

 _Ideally,_ she noted. That wasn't the same thing as realistically. "What about Max?" she asked.

"What about him?"

"He's Dylan's father."

Michael snorted. "Biologically."

"No, it's more than that." A few years ago, when Max had shown up in Roswell like a freight train, it'd been easy to dismiss him as an absentee parent who had earned no place whatsoever in Dylan's life. But nowadays, he'd spent a longer time being Dad to Dylan than Michael had, and she was sure that just wasn't something Michael wanted to contemplate. "He's been a huge part of his life for two years," she pointed out. "They have a really good father-son relationship."

"Then how come Dylan still calls me Daddy?" he blurted. "He does it all the time."

"He does?" It must have been happening at school then, because she didn't hear it at home.

"What, do I not get to be his dad anymore now that Max _finally_ decided to step up to the plate?" he demanded.

"No, of course not." She knew they both cared about Dylan and . . . well, _ideally_ , there existed some sort of future out there for them where they could _both_ care about Dylan without it being such a competitive, combative thing. "God, I've made such a mess of things," she groaned, digging her hands through her hair.

He stopped walking and stepped in front of her. "Okay, tell me, what do you think Max is gonna want?" he asked.

"Uh, nothing to do with me, that's for sure." The romance wasn't the issue here; the parenting was. "But he won't want anything to change with Dylan, either."

"So you guys are gonna have to share custody then," he concluded.

"I guess." She frowned, not even sure what that would feel like. A few years ago, she would have dreaded that kind of arrangement and done anything to avoid it, but now . . . it only seemed fair. "But we could make that work," she said. "I think." Maybe it would feel weird at first, and maybe it would _be_ weird for Dylan. But if that was what they had to do to make sure they both still got to be part of his life, then that was what they would do. "But I'm his mom, and I've always taken care of him, so . . . I mean, he'd still mostly live with me," she said, thinking out loud, wondering. "Right?"

"And me," he added.

She brushed the hair out of her eyes as the wind whipped past. "Is that what you want?"

"Yeah."

She smiled just thinking about it. It warmed her heart to think that they might possibly get back to where they used to be, that they might be able to be a family again. "But your place isn't really big enough for all three of us," she pointed out. "And I can't very well kick Max out of a house that's in his name."

"So we'll get a new place," he decided simply, "move in over the summer. There's family housing right off campus. I can look into it."

 _Family housing,_ she thought. A two-bedroom apartment, maybe. Just like the one they'd planned to get in Alabama.

"See?" he said, rubbing her shoulder. "We got a plan goin' now."

"Sort of," she said, knowing it was a typical Michael plan at this point. Michael plans tended to be optimistic but vague, with plenty of room left to hammer out all the little details. "I don't know, Michael, I just . . ." She sighed, wishing she could ease the anxiety, wishing his touch was enough to rid her body of its tension. "I get this weird feeling that telling Max the truth isn't gonna be the end of this. In fact . . ." She frowned. "I think it's just the beginning."

He still didn't look as worried as she felt. He never did.


	80. Chapter 80

Michael had another lousy test-taking experience that day, but the good news was that he only had one left. He promised himself he was going to study for this one, even if cramming at last minute wouldn't do much good. But when he got home . . . he got distracted. This time it was an understandable distraction, though. He'd told Maria he would look into the family housing, so that was exactly what he did.

The apartments looked nice enough, and the rent would be plenty affordable with both of them pitching in on the income. There was probably a waiting list, but since the university technically managed the complex, he was pretty sure he could ask Brody to do him a favor and put his name at the top of the list.

A knock on his door broke him out of his reverie, and he closed his computer and set it aside on the couch. When he opened the door, there stood Kyle, dressed as if he were about to hit the gym.

"Hey," Michael said, glad to see him after yesterday. "What's up, man? Are we workin' out today?"

"Nope, I'm takin' Steve," Kyle told him.

"Steve." Michael nodded, figuring that was fine. It wasn't like Kyle was going to replace him or anything. He was just pissed at him for now.

"You should study," Kyle suggested.

"That's what I'm doin'," he lied.

Of course Kyle saw right through him, though. "No, you're not."

 _No,_ he thought, sighing. _I'm not._ But what good would it do at this point anyway? If he didn't know his shit by now, he wouldn't know it tomorrow.

"Listen, I just came by to let you know . . ." Kyle came inside and shut the door. "Tess changed her mind. She wants to let you be Hayden and Haley's godfather after all."

 _Whoa, curveball,_ Michael thought. As much as he'd been hoping for this, he hadn't at all expected it. "Wow."

"Yeah. Although she'll probably reconsider when she finds out about . . ." Kyle just motioned to the bed. "You know. Anyway. So enjoy it while you can."

Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumping. _Dammit._

"Look, man . . . you gotta get your shit together," Kyle told him, "figure stuff out once and for all."

"I'm trying," he insisted. That was _why_ he'd just spent the past half an hour looking up this family housing. He wanted a plan for the future.

"Well, try harder," Kyle suggested, "because I can't keep defending you. I mean, I literally got into fights with my fiancée about you."

That wasn't what he wanted. At all. "You don't have to defend me," he said.

Kyle sighed, clasping his hands together for a minute, then unclasping them. "Here's the thing: You're my best friend, and you're always gonna be my best friend," he declared. "Nothing's ever gonna change that. And I know best friends are supposed to have each other's backs on everything, and I know I've _had_ your back on everything for the past twenty-one years. But . . ." He hesitated, staring at Michael with a sort of resigned acceptance in his eyes. "I don't have your back on this," he confessed.

Michael swallowed hard. This was a definite first. But he understood. Kyle, despite his faults, was a prototypical good guy. He'd never stoop as low as Michael had.

"So whatever happens once this is all out in the open . . . it just happens," Kyle said. "And even if it's something bad . . . you probably deserve it."

Michael lowered his head and nodded, letting that soak in. He couldn't be mad at Kyle for saying it, not when it was true. Actions had consequences and all that, and his actions had been pretty bad. So he wasn't naïve enough to think that the future was going to be a stroll through a park for him. But for Maria's sake, and for Dylan's sake . . . he hoped it wouldn't be horrible.

...

"Here you go." Jesse handed Isabel a tall glass of champagne and sat down next to her on the couch. "Cheers."

"To what?" she asked, holding her glass back.

"To your . . . independence." He smiled.

Well, that _was_ something cheerful. She tapped her glass against his and took a drink. "Mmm," she said. "Are we celebrating?"

"We sure are," he said. "Last video's goin' up tomorrow. And then you're done. Movin' forward."

"Moving forward." She took another sip of her champagne feeling . . . truly happy for the first time in a long time. It'd been so long, in fact, that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to feel this way.

"Thank you for being so understanding, Jesse," she told him, moving a bit closer to him. "I really appreciate how you've been about all of this."

"Of course," he said, as if it were no big deal. "I love you, Isabel."

She hadn't said that much lately, just because she wasn't sure that she'd felt it. But when Jesse was _this_ version of himself, the nice version, it was hard not to love him. "I love you, too," she said, leaning in for a kiss. But he stood up quickly and swooped her up with him.

"Let's dance," he said, swaying with her over to the stereo. He turned it on, and some ridiculous Latin music filled the house.

She threw her head back, laughing as he attempted some salsa footwork. She tried to mimic him but ended up tripping over his feet and collapsing against him.

"You alright?" he asked, chuckling.

She nodded and kept dancing, feeling more than alright. When was the last time she'd just danced for the fun of it? Not to entertain a customer, not to arouse someone, but just to let loose and feel free.

 _Free,_ she thought, raising her arms in the air as she shook her hair from side to side. She was finally free.

...

Even though she managed to get some sleep that night, Maria woke up pretty frequently. Beside her, Max was snoring lightly, his back to her, and she kept glancing over at him, wondering which one of them would be in that bed tomorrow night. Because it wouldn't be both of them. Either she'd be sleeping somewhere else or he would. In fact, they'd probably never lie in that bed together again.

It was for the best, and she knew it was for the best. But she was still dreading it.

Whenever she woke up, she ran through what she planned to say in her mind. It wasn't a word-for-word speech she'd planned out or anything, but there was a general outline, a certain structure she wanted to follow and probably wouldn't be able to follow once she actually started talking to him. She'd forget everything she planned to say and have to improvise. He'd probably interrupt her and yell a lot, and that would be understandable.

Tomorrow, she was going to crush him. Tomorrow, he would _be_ crushed. Tomorrow, his whole world was going to be turned upside down, and so was hers. But the difference was, she at least knew it was coming. He, however, would be blindsided. No idea.

It sure wasn't easy to fall back asleep that night, knowing that, in twenty-four hours, their lives would be completely different.

...

The whole room felt like it was spinning as Isabel tried to wake up. She was scared to open her eyes because of how dizzy she felt even with them closed. When she did, everything looked sort of blurry at first, and she had to blink a few times and wait a minute for everything to snap back into focus.

Morning sunlight shone in through the window, practically blinding her, and she had to shield her face from its glare. She tried to sit up, but that made her stomach feel like it was doing backflips. So she stayed down for a few seconds, holding one hand to her stomach and the other against her throbbing head.

 _God, how much did we celebrate last night?_ she thought, groaning. This was like a whole new brand of hangover, one she'd never experienced before, and it wasn't pleasant.

Somehow, she managed to sit up, slowly, careful not to dislodge the fragile contents of her stomach. She noticed Jesse sitting over at the desk, his eyes fixed on the computer. "Hey, you," he said with barely a glance back over his shoulder.

She could barely croak out a response. "I feel awful."

"Well, you had a lot to drink last night," he said. "Don't you remember?"

She tried to, but the last thing she remembered was dancing with him. "No," she said. "I don't remember . . . any of it." The weird thing was, she didn't even remember having that much to drink. Just a couple of glasses of champagne. "What happened to our room?" she asked, surveying the mess in front of her. The mattress was halfway hanging off the bed, and the covers were all torn off. She hadn't even had her head on a pillow, because the pillows were all on the floor.

Jesse smirked. "We had fun."

 _Maybe too much of it,_ she thought, scratching her head. She tried to thread her fingers through her hair, but it felt gross and snarly. In fact, her whole body felt gross. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt she didn't even recognized, and it reeked.

"What're you doing?" she asked her boyfriend, wishing he'd offer to go get her some medicine or cook her breakfast or something.

"Uploading a video," he replied.

"The last one? Does it look good?" She tried to scoot over on the mattress, but a sharp stab of pain shot up from her thighs, like a pulled muscle. She glanced down to see bruises on her legs, her inner thighs. That definitely didn't look good.

"You alright?" he asked, spinning around in his chair.

"No." Her mind felt fuzzy and her body felt sore. Something wasn't right.

Something wasn't right with Jesse, either. He stayed in that chair, blocking most of the computer screen from her view.

"I wanna see," she told him, managing to scoot towards the edge of the bed.

"You should rest," he advised.

"No, I wanna see." She got up, wincing as pain zinged up and down her legs.

He stood up, too, almost like a roadblock.

"Move, Jesse," she told him. When he didn't, she just pushed past him and sat down. He backed off.

She'd barely ever been on her own website, so it took her a minute to even locate the video he'd just uploaded. The thumbnail for it . . . didn't look familiar, and the title definitely wasn't what they'd agreed on. "Celebration?" she said, clicking on the thumbnail. It took a few seconds to load, and when it started playing . . . it wasn't _their_ video.

At first, she thought it was someone else, but when she peered closer . . . it was in fact her. She was in the living room in the same clothes she'd been wearing last night, still dancing, but not with Jesse this time. With some guy she didn't recognize. And there were a lot of other guys there, too.

"What?" she said, confused. "What is this?" Had he accidentally recorded over their footage or something? This wasn't what it was supposed to be.

When the video version of her started to fall down in the midst of her dancing, she grew worried; so she skipped ahead about ten minutes in the video, and what she saw then shocked and devastated her.

There she was, in the middle of a circle of pants-less men. She was on her knees, and her eyes kept drifting shut as they each took turns shoving their cocks in her mouth. At one point, she nearly tipped over, and one of them had to hold her up.

"What?" she gasped, her jaw trembling. "Oh my god." It was so repulsive that she couldn't even watch. She made the mistake of skipping ahead fifteen more minutes, though, and it was even worse. At that point, she was lying on the couch, and someone she didn't know was crawling on top of her. He started fucking her while the other guys just stood around, stroking their dicks, watching, cheering him on.

"Oh my god," she said again, gripped with fear. "Ugh . . ." She clicked towards the end of the video, and _that_ was when she felt the closest to throwing up. An hour and a half into that whole fuck-fest, they'd moved her upstairs and used her even more, in ways she couldn't even comprehend. They just kept shoving their way into her wherever they could. Three at one time, three people she didn't even know.

"Oh my god," she cried, needing to look away. She slammed the computer shut and shot to her feet, ignoring the stab of pain between her legs. "What did you do to me?" she demanded.

"We made a movie," he answered simply.

"With all of them? Who were those guys, Jesse?" she shrieked. "How many of them were there?"

"Six," he replied. "Not counting me and Eric."

Her eyes grew wide in horror, and she whimpered at the thought. _Eight._ Eight different men had fucked her last night? While she lay there like a rag doll, limp and lifeless, just a thing for them to tear up? "Oh god," she whispered, mortified. "Oh . . . I think I'm gonna be sick."

"You did good, Isabel," he complimented her, reaching out to place his hand on her arm. "You did really good."

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, swatting his hand away. "I hate you! I hate you, Jesse, I hate you!" She put both her hands on his chest and shoved him backward with what little strength she had left in her limbs. "I said I was done! I said I never wanted to do that! And _you_ said it was okay." She broke into tears, shaking her head, trying to rid her mind of the footage she'd just seen. "How could you do this to me?"

As emotionless as she'd ever seen him, he folded his arms and asserted, "It's business, Isabel."

"No, it's not! It's rape!" she roared. "You . . . _oh god_!" Her whole body started to crumble, and she had to reach down and hold onto the desk to keep from collapsing. Wailing, the reality of the situation crashed in on her. This wasn't just a betrayal; it was a complete and utter violation, and he had the audacity to make it public for everyone to see.

"You were into it, babe," he assured her. "Maybe you just had too much to drink."

"No, no, there is no _way_ I drank that much!" she yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "I wouldn't get so drunk that I would just let that happen. You . . . you _did something to me_!" She shuddered, struggling to breathe as she fought to comprehend that. This man, her _boyfriend_. . . he'd taken advantage of her, and he'd helped others do the same. "Oh . . . my god, you slipped me something, didn't you? That's why I don't remember. That's why I didn't know what was going on."

He didn't deny it. In fact, all he said was, "Isabel, calm down."

"Calm?" she echoed in distress. " _Calm_?! I was just gangbanged by eight different guys last night! Against my will! I'm _not_ calm, Jesse!"

"You liked it," he claimed.

She flung her hand out and slapped him hard across the face. "No," she ground out. There was no way she had liked one part of that, and he knew that. Why else would he have drugged her? "That's it, I am _out_ of here," she growled. "I'm taking Courtney and we are leaving."

"She doesn't wanna go," he said, as if he had the authority to speak for her. This bastard . . .

"No, she does," Isabel insisted. "You don't even know her. She's my friend. I'm not leaving her." Hell, probably half of her gangbang videos were the result of something like this.

"Isabel . . ." He lifted the screen of their laptop again and pressed the play button. She forced herself to watch more, just because of who she now noticed in the background. There, standing next to Eric, naked as he was, was Courtney. She was doing nothing to stop it, nothing to help. In fact, she was encouraging it by saying things like, "Yeah, fuck her harder," and "Don't stop."

Isabel whimpered, broken-hearted. No one in that house cared enough about her to help her. No one cared about her at all. She really was just a product to them, a thing. They weren't friends, and they _definitely_ weren't family.

"She wants to be here," Jesse reaffirmed, leaving the computer on as he turned and marched out of the bedroom.

A screaming cry rose up from her lungs once he was gone. She fumbled with the mouse, trying to exit out of the video, but her eyes were so clouded over with tears that she could barely see what she was doing. Finally, she just slammed the whole computer shut, unplugged it, and threw it at the wall. She heard something crack as it fell to the floor.

She fell to the floor right along with it, clutching at the carpet, sobbing. Surely they were all home, and surely they all heard her. But not one of them came to check and see if she was okay.

She wasn't okay.

...

Maria was waiting for Michael outside of Burnett Hall when he got done with his final. Just seeing her there was like a breath of fresh air.

"So how'd it go?" she asked.

"Slightly better than the others, but that's not sayin' much." He shrugged. Whatever. It was what it was at this point.

"We _have_ to be more academic next semester," she said.

"We will be." Reaching down, he linked his hand with hers, knowing they weren't _technically_ supposed to be acting like a couple in public yet. But why not? In a few hours, they'd officially be one. "So today's the day, huh?" he said, walking with her.

"Yep. My stomach's in knots."

He squeezed her hand supportively. "You got a plan for afterward?"

"I don't know," she replied. "Dylan and I might have to stay in a hotel tonight."

"Ah, come on, stay with me." He had plenty of time now that his finals were over; he could go home and straighten up, make sure those dishes finally got done. "You guys take the bed; I'll take the couch."

"Won't that be weird for Dylan, though?" she asked.

"No weirder than sleepin' in a hotel." It'd be better this way. They could pop in a few movies for him or something, something to occupy him.

"I guess," she said. "Well, it'll be later, after Max gets home from work."

"I'll be at home," he promised.

"Okay." She sighed and slowed to a stop as they approached an intersection in the sidewalks. Apparently she didn't have to go the same way he did, so this was it. Until later.

 _Screw it,_ he thought, leaning in for a kiss. He didn't care who saw, or if anyone even saw at all. She was his girl, and he couldn't resist kissing her.

"I love you," she said when they broke apart.

"I love you, too." No matter what happened today, that wouldn't change. "See you later," he said, reluctantly letting go of her hand.

She waved goodbye to him, and her long blonde hair dropped in front of her eyes as she turned and walked off.

He backed away, unable to take his eyes off of her for a few seconds. Smiling to himself, he finally turned around and walked off in the opposite direction. Today was the day.

...

It didn't matter that she showered, didn't matter that she got dressed in some actual clothes of her own. Isabel still felt filthy. Even though she couldn't remember it happening, she kept imaging their hands all over her. All that imagining led to vomiting. Several times.

She stayed up in her room, curled up on an empty mattress, her knees up by her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. She hadn't eaten, nor did she want to. She hadn't gone downstairs to get a drink, nor did she plan to. All she could do was just sit there. And wait. But she had no idea what she was waiting for.

For the most part, Jesse left her alone that day. She could hear him downstairs with Eric and Courtney, laughing, living it up like it was just a normal day. Like nothing was wrong. He came upstairs that afternoon to grab his keys and barely even glanced at her. "I think we're gonna go out," he mumbled. "Wanna come?"

She slowly lifted her head to look up at him, glaring. "Are you kidding me?" she growled. Did she _want_ to hang out with the three of them right now? She wanted nothing to do with them.

"Just thought I'd ask," he muttered, jingling his keys as he left the room.

She shook her head in dismay, amazed by his complete and utter lack of respect for her. She'd always sensed that he didn't _really_ love her as much as he claimed, but never had that been more apparent than today. He didn't love her at all. He never really had. She'd always been something for him to use for his own satisfaction, his own benefit. There was no good in Jesse Ramirez. Any claim to the contrary was just a lie.

 _Everything was a lie,_ she thought morosely as she listened to the car pull out of the driveway. He'd never truly supported her decision to quit this industry. He'd never planned to let their romantic video actually be their last video. His plan was to keep her entrenched in all of this for as long as he possibly could, to keep using her until there was nothing left to use. He thought he owned her. But of course he did. She'd been nothing but an obedient little girlfriend for the past three years. Of course he was drunk off that power. He assumed it would never change.

 _No,_ she thought, determined. _Something has to change._

She shot to her feet, nearly numb to her own aching muscles at this point, and raced downstairs into the bathroom. Purposefully not looking at her reflection, she opened the mirrored cabinet and frantically searched around inside for some of Courtney's pills. But they weren't there.

"Dammit," she swore, slamming her fist down on the sink counter. She needed those pills. She needed something to just make this stop.

When she shut the cabinet and caught sight of herself, she was horrified. She looked awful. Not even like herself. People who'd known her back in high school wouldn't even recognize her anymore.

She didn't even recognize herself.

 _Who am I?_ she wondered, staring at her own reflection helplessly. She wasn't the person she wanted to be, nor the person everyone had assumed she would be. She didn't even have potential anymore. Jesse and Eric and all those other guys last night . . . they'd fucked it right out of her.

 _I'm no one,_ she decided. It was a dismal thought, one that filled her with a hopelessness unlike anything else she'd ever felt before. It was as if her life were a snow globe, and she was just trapped. Unable to get out, unable to breathe. And every once in a while, someone would come along and shake her whole world up, rattling her to the core. And then it wouldn't stop snowing.

She sulked out of the bathroom, contemplating her options. And what few options there were. She could go back upstairs and sit and wait for her so-called 'family' to return, or . . . she could do something else.

Inspiration struck, just like it did for the chapters of her novel. The minute she remembered what was stashed away upstairs, the minute it seemed like the perfect thing to do.

She ran back upstairs and into her and Jesse's room. Climbing over pillows and blankets, she got into the closet and pulled a string to turn on the overhead light. The light flickered on but then went out just as quickly. She pulled the string again, but it remained dark.

Didn't matter. She bent down, reaching past pair after pair of shoes she owned, and fumbled with the lock for a small black safe. She had to squint in the darkness to see the numbers, but eventually, she heard it click, and the small door swung open.

She reached inside and took out the only object hidden away in there, an object that was hidden away for a reason.

A gun.


	81. Chapter 81

His place was looking good, or at least Michael thought it was looking good. He'd done more cleaning in the past four hours than he'd ever done in his life.

The dishes were done. The laundry was done. The sheets were changed and the bed was made. Hell, he'd even dusted and vacuumed. Now all that was left to do was wait for Dylan and Maria to show up. Maybe he could try to cook something before they showed up there.

"Watch out, buddy," he said, stepping over Shango as he rearranged a few items on his coffee table. He'd gone ahead and checked out a whole bunch of movies from the front desk. _Monsters, Inc._ and _Toy Story_ just to name a few. Some quality Pixar stuff Dylan would love watching, even if he'd already seen them a thousand times. And if he got bored with the movies, then he could play with the dog. He'd be just fine over there tonight, probably would end up tiring himself out.

He was just about to sit down with Shango and veg out for a while when there was a knock on the door. Definitely not a Kyle knock; way too soft for that. Maria couldn't have been there already, right? It was too early.

He got up and answered the door, truly shell-shocked by who he saw standing on the other side. A lame "Hey," was all he managed.

Sarah didn't bother to say it back. She stared at him with a serious look in her eyes and said, "I need to talk to you."

 _Oh, shit,_ he thought, fearing he already knew what this was about. Maybe Kyle or Liz had slipped up and said something. Maybe she'd seen him kiss Maria on campus today. Regardless of how she'd found out . . . she definitely knew.

...

Liz smiled at Max when he came into the bakery, but she didn't say anything because she didn't want to lose count of where she was at with the register. She finished up counting the twenties and wrote the total down on a sticky note, closing the register drawer to finish up later.

"So I heard you're giving Alan another shot," he remarked.

"Yeah, well, he called the other day, and I kinda just said yes." She shrugged, wishing now that she wouldn't have. They were going to have to do an early dinner and just skip the movie tonight, because if Maria went through her plan to clue Max in, he was going to need some major emotional support tonight. "I doubt it's gonna amount to anything," she made sure to add, just so he knew that romance really _wasn't_ on the menu.

"He's a nice guy," Max noted.

"That's why I don't wanna lead him on. I think today I'm gonna have to clarify to him that we're just gonna be friends."

Max cocked his head to the side and asked, "You sure about that?" He leaned against the counter, his strong hands gripping the edge. "Sometimes two people can be friends with the potential to be a whole lot more."

As much as she wanted to read into that, she'd learned not to. "That's not me and Alan," she said.

"Is it me and you?"

Her heart beat into overtime, shocked as all get out. "What?" He hadn't really just said that . . . had he? _Holy crap._ "Max . . ." This really wasn't the best time for him to be flirtatious. Knowing what she knew now, her resistance was less than what it had once been. She didn't want to do or say anything she would regret. "Don't say that," she told him, figuring it was best to just not answer the question.

"Why not?" he pressed.

 _Oh my god,_ she thought, stunned by his seriousness. He wasn't joking around here. "Look, I'm not saying there's no . . ." She trailed off, trying to think of a way to respond that wasn't an all-out refusal but also wasn't an open invitation. "I mean, obviously there's still a connection, but . . ." She felt herself becoming more and more frazzled the more she spoke. "Max, where is this coming from?"

He rested his arms on the counter, slumping over. "I've just been thinking about a lot of things lately," he said. "All the mistakes I've made."

She raised an eyebrow. "And I was one of them?"

"No," he responded quickly. "But breaking up with you probably was."

As if her heart wasn't already beating fast enough, that made it beat even faster. What the hell was happening? She had dreams that started out like this, but it was never supposed to really happen.

"There's something I need you to know, Liz," he said, his eyes locked onto hers. "I didn't choose Maria over you."

 _Yes, you did,_ she thought. _That's why I didn't fight for you._

"When I got clean, I realized I needed redemption," he went on, "and I needed it the most with Dylan. So I had to be there for him. I wanted to be close to him. And to do that . . . well, I had to reconnect with Maria, too."

She shook her head, not quite so eager to believe all of this. He was making it sound like Maria was just some chore, but she knew better than that. He really cared about her.

"I knew I could do things right with you and Scarlet, right from the start," he said, "but I had to make things better with them. So that's why I got back together with Maria. It wasn't about her; it was about my family. And if it had _just_ been about you and her . . ." He grinned at her, his eyes momentarily glancing down at her mouth. "Well, I think I would've made a different decision."

She swallowed hard, shocked into silence. It still didn't feel real that he was saying any of this, and while part of her was elated, another part was confused. What was impetus for this sudden confession? If Maria had already admitted all to him, then she really had to take everything he was saying with a grain of salt. Because he might not really mean it. It might have just been his emotions talking.

Skeptical as she was, she didn't have it in her to protest when he leaned in, cupped her face, and pressed the softest of kisses to her forehead. It was so unbelievably tender and sweet that she didn't even have it in her to doubt it. So she savored it instead.

Without another word, he turned around and headed out, leaving her with more questions than answers. She felt as hopeful as she did wary, wondering if maybe they _were_ the type of friends who had the potential to be more. Not today, and not tomorrow, even. But someday.

...

It felt so fucking weird having Sarah back inside that apartment. Not bad, necessarily. Just . . . different. He was glad he'd cleaned up before she'd gotten there. Made him look more responsible than he'd actually been these past two months.

She surveyed the movies on the table and lifted up the top DVD case. " _Monsters, Inc._?" she said.

"Yeah, it's a . . . it's a classic," he claimed.

She gave him a confused look and set the movie back down on the top of the pile. Shango approached her and started pawing at her feet, and she smiled at him and squatted down to pet him. "Hey, Shango," she said, scratching him behind the ears. He nuzzled his head eagerly against her hand, like he'd missed her or something.

Michael didn't want to be rude, but he kind of wanted to cut to the chase here. If he and Sarah were going to hash this out, they had to do it before Maria and Dylan came by. So he decided to ditch the awkward, casual interaction and dive straight into it. "Alright, look, Sarah . . . I know what you're gonna say to me, and I know you're probably pissed and disappointed in me, and I know messed up. I know it was wrong."

She stood up, giving him the kind of look you gave crazy rambling people who wouldn't shut their mouths. "What're you talking about?"

 _What?_ Were they not talking about the same thing? If she hadn't come over there to confront him about his affair, then . . .

Well then, it was his lucky day. "Never mind. It's not important," he dismissed quickly. "What're you doin' here?"

She hooked her fingers together and glanced down at her hands, mumbling, "I told you, we need to talk."

He'd had so many talks with so many people lately, he could barely distinguish one from the next. "Alright," he urged. "About what?"

Slowly, as if she didn't _really_ want to say anything, she lifted her head and made eye contact with him again. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, but he still heard her loud and clear.

"I think I might be pregnant."

He stared at her in disbelief, hoping he'd misheard her. Knowing he hadn't.

Words escaped him. Panic seized him. And only one thought crossed his mind: _No._

...

"Mom, I'm gonna play outside," Dylan announced as he skipped towards the door with a Nerf football in hand.

"Stay where I can see you, okay?" Maria reminded him as she finished putting all the freshly dried dishes away.

"Kay." He even remembered to leave the front door propped open a bit as he went outside.

Maria sighed, washing off her hands, hating that scaly dishwater feeling. They never had gotten the dishwater fixed. In fact, there was a lot of stuff around that house that was sort of just . . . deteriorating.

She went into the living room and sat down on the couch, pulling the curtains back so she could peek outside at Dylan. He appeared to be attempting a game of catch . . . by himself. He'd throw the football across the yard and then go running for it, trying to get underneath it before it hit the ground. He wasn't really having much success, though.

She yawned, lying down for a minute, shutting her eyes. The whole week seemed like it had just dragged on and on, probably because she'd been dreading the inevitable. _The_ conversation. The one that should have happened months ago. Although it probably wouldn't have been much easier then.

Just as she was about to doze off for a few minutes, Max came in the front door, heavy footsteps echoing with every step.

"You're home early," she said, sitting up.

He shrugged. "Normal time. You know Dylan's out there, right?"

"Yeah." She peeked out at him again, seeing that he'd started doing something different now. Now he was just tossing the football as high into the air as possible and catching it over and over again.

"Hey, so Luke's mom called," she told Max as he took off his shoes. "She said Luke wants Dylan to sleep over. I was thinking that might not be such a bad idea."

"Hmm." He grinned. "We could have a night alone then."

That wasn't exactly what she had in mind. She was more so thinking that it was a chance for Dylan to be _away_ from everything tonight, off somewhere else having fun with his best friend, completely oblivious to all the drama back home. "Should I pack up his stuff?" she asked.

Max shrugged again. "Whatever you want."

She wanted her son out of dodge for all of this, so she decided, "I'll go do that," and shot to her feet.

"Wait a minute," Max said, grabbing her arm and pulling her back as she tried to ease past him. "Before you do . . ." He smiled, a heartbreaking gleam of excitement in his eyes. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

 _Ask me?_ she registered. _Oh god._

Her worst fears became reality when he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small, sparkly object. A ring. He sank to one knee and held it out between his thumb and index finger, gazing up at her expectantly.

 _Oh no,_ she thought, heart thudding. _No._

"Maria DeLuca . . ."

"Max, don't," she whimpered.

But it was like he didn't even hear her. "Will you do me the honor . . ."

Her stomach clenched. This couldn't be happening.

He paused for a second, and his eyes suddenly narrowed, and the smiling corners of his mouth dropped. "Of telling me how long you've been cheating on me?" he finished.

Her pounding heart just _dropped_ , right down to the pit of her stomach. "What?" she gasped. How had he found out?

"Don't pretend to be confused," he said, standing back up. He put the ring back in his pocket and restated, "I wanna know how long."

She was so flabbergasted, though, that she could barely comprehend his question, let alone answer it. "How did you . . . how do you know?" she sputtered. Surely Michael hadn't said anything, and it was doubtful Kyle would have. That pretty much left one person. "Did Liz tell you?"

"Liz knows?" He laughed angrily. "Oh, great, it's a fucking conspiracy."

"She just found out the other day."

"Well, I just found out a couple weeks ago." Max took a few steps down the hall, stopping near the bathroom. "Yep, came home from Roswell a couple hours early, and there you two were, right in our bed." He gestured sadly to their room. "Right there. Fast asleep."

"Oh god," she choked out. "I'm so sorry, Max."

"Don't apologize," he snapped, stomping back towards her.

"But I _am_ sorry."

"I don't wanna hear it!" he yelled. "I don't fucking care. Now answer the question, Maria: How long has it been going on?"

 _Too long,_ she thought. She'd prepared herself for this part of the conversation last night, but not this way. In her head, she'd pictured Max being the one shocked into silence and herself doing most of the talking. "A while," she finally responded.

"Before or after your lover boy broke up with Sarah?"

"Before . . ." She cringed. ". . . technically."

"Oh, I get it," he said, smiling as if he were amused. "So you laid out the welcome mat, and he laid her out to dry. Nice, Maria. Very classy."

"It wasn't like we planned it, okay?" Not that that made it better or anything.

"Well, hey, at least he broke up with her. I mean, I am by no means the guy's biggest fan, but at least he didn't drag it out and play her for a fool."

It was a pretty obvious jab at her, and she felt compelled to at least try to explain herself. "That's not what I was trying to do."

"Then how come I feel foolish?" he countered.

"I was worried about you, Max. I didn't know what would happen to you if we . . ." She trailed off, feeling as if nothing she could say would do any good.

"What, broke up?" he filled in. "Don't flatter yourself, baby. You were never the one who made me a better guy. That was all Dylan."

"Well, I was thinking about him, too. He's already been through so much, and for the first time in his life, he has some actual stability. I really wanted us, our family, to work."

"That's a lie," Max growled.

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is!" he blasted. "If you really wanted us to work, you wouldn't have kept on sleeping with that son of a bitch. But you did. You know why? Because you're a liar and a cheater and a whore." He pointed an accusatory finger at her and said it again. "You're a whore. You're _his_ whore."

She winced as so many painful memories from the past assaulted her mind when he said that word. "Please don't call me that."

"Why not? It's what you are." He moved in extraordinarily close to her, his breath seething into her ear. "And the only reason it bothers you so much is because you know I'm right."

Shuddering, she closed her eyes, trying to convince herself that that wasn't true, that it was just his anger talking. But maybe it wasn't.

...

Michael's head was spinning, but he was trying not to freak out. Inside . . . he was freaking out, though.

"What do you mean you _might_ be?" he asked.

"I mean . . . I'm late," Sarah clarified.

"Well, what does that mean?"

She shot him an annoyed look.

"No, I—I know what I _means,_ but . . ." He stopped and took a breath. "How late?"

Shoving her hands in the front pockets of her jeans, she avoided all eye contact with him as she confessed, "I didn't get my period last month."

"Last _month_?" he echoed incredulously. Oh, shit, here he'd been expecting a week or two late, maybe, but . . . a whole fucking month? Great. "Okay," he said, still fighting to keep it together. He was trying to do the math in his head, and he knew it was certainly _possible_. And he was pretty sure he hadn't worn a condom, because . . . well, she was on the pill, and she was always really diligent about taking it.

There was something he had to know, and he felt like an ass for even considering the possibility. "Is it . . ." He wasn't sure how to put it, so he just phrased it as delicately as he could. "I mean . . . would it be mine?"

"Of course!" she snapped. "God, you're the only person I've ever been with."

"Okay, I just . . ." He held his hands up non-confrontationally. "Just thought I'd ask." He'd figured as much, though, so now he felt like an ass for asking. "Well, have you . . . have you taken a test or anything?"

"No," she whimpered, blinking away tears. "I've been too scared."

"Well, that's what you gotta do then. We gotta know." He gave himself a mental pat on the back for steering the situation in the logical direction and offered, "I'll go out and buy one right now."

"I already have one," she revealed. "In my purse."

He glanced down at the bag next to her feet. "Good," he said, his stomach quenching with nervousness. "That's good. So we can just . . ." He took a deep breath, trying to conceal just how panicked he was feeling. Because he knew she had to feel ten times worse, especially if she'd been keeping this in for a month now. "Let's find out," he said. "You can just do it right now, and I'll wait with you."

She nodded dazedly, bending down to pick up her purse. She flung the whole thing over her shoulder and staggered to the bathroom.

"Sarah," he called.

Slowly, she turned back around.

"Everything's gonna be fine," he promised, hoping to reassure her, to make her feel better.

She didn't nod or say anything to even acknowledge that. Instead, she just slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. He listened as the lock clicked into place, then let out the heavy, distressed sigh he'd been holding in. This couldn't be happening. It just _couldn't_ be.

...

"Why don't you tell me, Maria?" Max ground out, his voice crackling with contempt as he circled around her like a vulture. "Tell me all the gritty details now so there aren't any more surprises."

"What do you mean?"

"Who's on top more, huh?" he demanded. "Him or you?"

"What?" Why the hell would he want to know? "Max . . ."

"Him, right?" he guessed. "Does he make you cum?"

"Max, stop." He was just making this even more uncomfortable than it already was.

"I wanna know," he said, planting his feet directly in front of her, "does he make you cum?"

"Yes, alright? Now let it go."

He didn't let it go. He just kept pushing and pushing for more. "How often? Every single time?"

"Max!"

"I mean, is it just _that_ good that he gets you off _every single time_?"

"Why are you doing this?" she wailed. Was he trying to make himself miserable?

"How many times did you do it here?" he questioned sternly.

She grunted, astounded by all of this. Of all the things she'd rehearsed in her mind last night, this hadn't been one of them.

"Answer the question, Maria," he commanded.

"I don't know, okay?" Not as many times as they'd done it at his place, that was for sure.

"Do you suck him off, or do you let him cum inside you?"

"Stop!" He was totally crossing the line now.

"You let him fuck your ass?"

She couldn't even manage a response for that one.

"Oh, you do, don't you?" he concluded. "Do you like it?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I bet you do, you dirty girl."

"Fine, I like it, okay?" she relented. Maybe if she just answered his stupid question, he'd quit asking them. "Now stop. _Please_ , just stop!"

"I'll stop bein' a dick to you when you stop bein' a bitch to me."

"I'm not trying to be a bitch, Max!"

"Well, you are," he accused. "I mean, were you even gonna tell me?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Tonight."

"And then—let me guess—you were gonna run off to Michael's to have some more butt sex."

"God, I can't—I can't talk to you when you're like this!" she screamed, throwing her hands up beside her head. "You're making it really hard to feel bad for you right now."

"I don't want your sympathy!" he roared. "I don't want anything from you, Maria!"

"Then stop asking about-"

"Mom?" a tiny voice squeaked out.

She fell abruptly silent when Dylan's fearfully broke into their argument.

"Dad?" He stood in the doorway with his football in hand, his mouth downturned, eyes filled with concern.

 _Oh god,_ Maria thought, ashamed to even look at him. How could they be so careless to do this with him around?

"Why are you guys yelling?" he whimpered.

She imagined that this was what Michael would have been like at Dylan's age overhearing his own parents' arguments, and the thought of that broke her heart. "Um, Dylan, can you go back outside please?" she asked him kindly, her voice quivering with emotion.

As if he sensed that they shouldn't be left alone together anymore, Dylan said, "Dad, come play with me."

Maria cast a glance at Max, who seemed as horrified as she was that Dylan was a witness to this. "Not right now, kiddo," he declined.

Pouting in disappointment, Dylan drooped his head and sulked back outside by himself.

"Oh god," Maria scraped out. "He can't be here for this." She ran into the bedroom, grabbed her purse, and slammed right past Max on her way back out.

"Where are you taking him?" he demanded, grabbing her wrist hard.

"Somewhere where there's not gonna be any yelling." She jerked her arm free of his grasp and hurried outside to get her son and get out of there.

...

 _Keep it together,_ Michael kept telling himself as he paced back and forth through his living room. Sarah had been in that bathroom for a long time now, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe she was struggling to go through with it, or maybe she had and she was going to look at the test results by herself. He thought about knocking on the door and checking up on her, but then he figured it might just be best to give her space.

Thoughts raced through his head as he feet burned holes in the floor. What if this was really happening? Sure, he'd pictured himself being a father someday, but . . . not like this. And not now. Not when every complicated thing in his life was finally starting to sort itself out.

His phone rang shrilly, and he stopped walking to peer down at the name on the screen. Fantastic. Maria.

Grimacing, he picked up the phone and answered it. "Hey, I can't really talk right now."

"Oh, Michael, it was awful," she said, her voice low, quiet, like she didn't want to be overheard. "He already knew."

"What?" That didn't make any sense. But then again, nothing made sense to him right now.

"I tried to talk to him, but he already knew. And he was so mad." He heard her sniff back tears, and as much as he wanted to say something comforting . . . he just didn't know what to say right now. Part of him was on the phone with her, and the other part was fixated on that closed bathroom door, waiting for Sarah to come out.

"Anyway, I've got Dylan in the car with me right now, so I can't really say much," she said, "but we're on our way over."

 _Oh, shit._ She couldn't come over right now. Any other time maybe, but not right now. "Actually, it's not . . . now's not really the best time," he told her.

"What do you mean? I thought-"

"Yeah, I—listen, I can't talk." If Sarah came out to find him on the phone with her, it'd devastate her.

"You can't talk? What's going on?"

"I gotta go."

"What? Michael-"

More abruptly than he would have liked, he ended the call and tossed his phone down on the couch. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, flopping down on the middle cushion, praying Maria listened to him and stayed away for a little while longer. He just needed a little time with Sarah to figure this all out.

As bad as it sounded, though . . . he hoped there wasn't anything _to_ figure out.

...

Maria grunted in disbelief, looking down at the _call ended_ on her phone's screen. Well, this was great. So nice of Michael to be such a big help.

She shoved her phone back in her purse, thinking quickly about what to do. She could go the hotel route, although she wasn't exactly looking to spend the money. There was pretty much only one other option, and it wasn't a guarantee.

"Where we going, Mommy?" Dylan asked from the backseat. He still had his Nerf football in hand, but he was pretty much just squeezing it like a stress ball now.

"We're just . . ." _I don't know,_ she thought. _Somewhere. Anywhere._ "We're just gonna go hang out for a little while, okay?" she told him vaguely, trying to make her voice sound as upbeat as possible.

"Where's Dad?" he asked.

 _Oh god._ Unable to even muster a response for that one, she pressed her elbow against the window and rubbed her temple with her fingers. This was a disaster.

She drove over to Liz's apartment, hoping that at least Dylan could stay there tonight. If he had his little sister to play with, then that would keep his mind off of everything else. If that didn't work, then she could always still drop him off at Luke's.

"Come on, let's go," she said as she reached back to unhook his seatbelt.

"Is Scarlet home?" he asked, bounding out of the backseat.

"I don't know, we'll see," she muttered, getting out of the car with much less enthusiasm. Liz wasn't exactly going to be thrilled to see her, and things would probably feel weird now that Liz had made a confession of her own.

"Scarlet!" Dylan exclaimed, racing up the outside steps to the second floor. He was so excited that he tripped.

"You okay?" Maria called as she trudged after him.

"Yep!" he chirped, getting right back up. He hopped in front of the door and knocked loudly, still yelling for his sister. "Scarlet!"

Maria just got to the top of the steps when the door opened, but it wasn't Liz on the other side, and it _definitely_ wasn't Scarlet.

"Oh, hey, Alex," she greeted. "Is Liz home?"

"Uh, no," he said as Dylan slipped right past him. "I'm supposed to babysit Scarlet while she goes out on a date, but . . . ah, maybe she's not goin'." He opened the door wider and invited, "Come in. Stay a while."

"Yeah, we might," she mumbled, easing her way past him.

"Scarlet!" Dylan kept hollering, running from one bedroom to the next.

"She's not here, sweetie," Maria informed him.

His shoulders slumped, and he threw his football down on the floor, clearly not a very happy camper right now.

"Is everything alright?" Alex inquired quietly.

"Yeah." She rubbed her forehead again, hoping Liz had some pain relievers she could break into. "It's just been a really hectic day."

"Well, sit down," Alex said, motioning towards the couch. "Do you want anything? I could make you some tea."

 _And the award for nicest guy ever goes to . . ._ she thought, smiling at him appreciatively. "Sure. Thanks." She made her way over to the couch and practically crashed, feeling the stress of the day weighing on her. Dylan climbed up next to her a minute later and snuggled up against her side. He looked way too tense for a little boy his age, probably because he knew something bad was going on, even if he didn't understand the specifics.

As he was preparing her tea in the kitchen, Alex's phone rang. Maria glanced back over her shoulder and saw him eyeing the screen intensely, as if he were debating whether or not to answer it.

"Is that Liz?" she asked.

"No. Isabel."

She frowned, hoping—for his sake—that they weren't back on friendly terms now. That girl was just bad news, and Alex deserved way better.

"I'll call her back later," he said, silencing the ringer.

...

Liz halfway sat/halfway lay in one of the booths at her bakery, typing out a text to Alan. She kept deleting it, though, right as she was about to send it, and then eventually ended up typing out the whole thing all over again. She didn't want to hurt his feelings or anything, but clearly he liked her more than she liked him.

She finally settled on, _change of plans. cant make it tonight. really sorry_ , and sent it before she had a moment to second-guess it. It was sort of brief and blunt, and he'd probably try to reschedule for tomorrow night or sometime next week. She'd have to let him down easy then.

Behind the counter, Scarlet was roaming around her playpen, squeezing a toy Max had given her, a pink duck that made the most annoying quacking sound of all time. She giggled adorably every time it did, though, so that made it hard to be irritated.

Her phone rang while the duck was in mid-quack, and she groaned, assuming it was Alan. But when she saw the name on the screen . . . well, she was still disappointed. Because it wasn't Max. It was just Isabel.

No way could she deal with her right now. Isabel wasn't a total bitch to her or anything, not like she was to Maria, but she was still very dramatic. And Liz already had enough to drama going on.

She pressed _Ignore_ and set her phone aside on the table. Closing her eyes for just a moment, she let herself picture that look in Max's eyes today, recall the conviction in his voice.

" _I think I would've made a different decision."_

She couldn't help but smile as she remembered the tender kiss he'd placed upon her forehead. No, it wasn't a declaration of true love by any means, but . . . it gave her hope. Maybe, when all of this was said and done and he realized what a mismatch he and Maria truly were . . . maybe he'd give things a try with his other family.

...

Isabel's whole body shook desperately with sobs as Liz's voicemail kicked on.

" _Hey, it's Liz. You know what to do."_

She _didn't_ know what to do, though. She was still sitting in that dark, cramped closet with no idea. If she did anything . . . it might be the last thing she did.

She neglected to leave a voicemail, needing to hear someone's voice. But either Alex and Liz couldn't get to the phone right now, or they just didn't care to answer. Either way, it felt like the world was closing in on her just a little bit more.

 _What's happening?_ she wondered, looking down at her hands. Cell phone in the right, loaded gun in the left. How on earth had her life come to this? How had it been _reduced_ to this?

She scrolled further down the contact list in her phone, figuring she probably only had one more phone call attempt left in her. After that, she was just done trying. After that, she was setting the phone down.

She stopped around the M names, her thumb hovering over her last resorts. _Max. Michael._ Would either of them pick up? Or would she just hear another voicemail kick on?

Tears kept pouring down her cheeks as her teeth chattered and her whole body shook. This was it. One shot, so to speak. Pivotal. Since this was the last call she was willing to make, she had to make sure she called the right person.


	82. Chapter 82

**NOTE: This is NOT the last part, and there will be a third story in this series. Since I am suffering through a major writer's block, I do not know how soon I will be able to start posting it. Thanks in advance for the patience.**

 _Epilogue_

 _No one ever thought I'd get anywhere in life. But I did. I got here. When I went to college, my life went somewhere._

 _Suck on that, Mr. Frost._

 _I never have quite understood why my college picked Pistol Pete as a mascot, though, even though I've grown to appreciate it. Why not just use a generic cowboy instead? Why use a guy who left a trail of bodies in his wake? He's not a good guy._

 _But he's a legend, so they say. The ultimate brave cowboy who never backs down, never gives up, never quits fighting for what he wants._

 _I wonder what he wanted. Probably that girl who gave him the cross, right? The cross that saved his life in a shootout. You never know what's gonna save you. Just like you never know what might destroy you._

 _But I don't think old Pete ever really had that girl. She died before he could thank her._

 _That doesn't seem fair._

 _Would he have even bothered to thank her, though? Not likely, if you ask me. He wasn't a hero. Cowboys_ aren't _heroes, despite what the movies might want you to believe. But they don't have to be villains, either. Being dangerous isn't the same thing as being bad._

 _I know Pistol Pete wasn't a hero; and I know he wasn't a villain._

 _I_ don't _know which one I am. But I know which one I wanna be._

...

The wait was agonizing. It seemed endless, and the longer it dragged on, the more Michael wondered what the hell they were waiting for. Didn't these tests only take a couple of minutes? Sarah had been out of that bathroom for ten minutes now, but she'd just sat down on the couch and fallen silent. She wasn't making any move to get up and go back in. It was like she was catatonic or something, and he, on the flipside, couldn't sit still. He paced back and forth, trying to keep his breathing steady, even though that got harder and harder with each minute that dragged by.

Finally, though, he just couldn't take it anymore, and he had to say something. "I think . . . we can go check it now." Hint, hint.

She shook her head stubbornly. "No, I'm not ready for that."

 _Not ready?_ What, did she _prefer_ the torture of this? "Well . . . I am," he said, hoping that would be enough for her to _get_ ready.

"That doesn't matter to me, Michael," she snapped.

"Hey, I might not be the one who's pregnant, but this affects me, too," he reminded her, his voice rising in volume despite his desire to stay calm for her. "I just wanna know. You took the test. Let's go see what it says."

There was this sweeping look of hurt in her eyes when he said that, like she hated him for being insensitive or something. He couldn't bear to see her look that way, not under normal circumstances, and definitely not now. So he shut himself up and relented to more waiting.

Instead of pacing, he took a seat next to her on the couch, careful not to sit too close. His eyes swept over her, studying her, taking in the sight of that long, dark hair and those thick eyelashes for the first time in weeks. He'd almost forgotten how small she was compared to him, but . . . maybe she wouldn't be small much longer.

He glanced at her stomach, thinking that it didn't . . . it didn't _look_ pregnant.

"Did you ever really love me?" she asked him suddenly, her voice a mere whisper, a fraction of what it usually was. "Or was I always just the girl you dated because you couldn't have Maria?"

He hated that he'd given her reason to doubt their relationship, everything they'd shared. "No, I loved you," he assured her. Those two and a half years with her had been some of the best of his life. "A lot."

That didn't seem to be any consolation at all. If anything, she looked even more hurt knowing that it _had_ been real. "I remember our first night here in this place," she recalled, glancing over her shoulder at the bed that used to be _their_ bed. "I couldn't fall asleep, and when I did, I had a nightmare." She inhaled shakily, her eyes shimmering with tears that were right on the edge. "When I woke up, I was trembling, and you just put your arms around me and held me, and you said, 'Don't worry. Everything's gonna be alright.'" She tried to smile, but it was more of a sad grimace than anything else.

He knew he couldn't do that anymore, but he could still try to be reassuring. "It _is_ gonna be alright," he said, not sure what gave him the authority to make such a promise. He just felt like, if he didn't, she'd break apart into a million pieces right before his eyes.

"It just doesn't sound as convincing anymore." She hung her head, staring down at her lap blankly, and he swore he'd never seen her look more lost.

"Sarah, I'm right here," he told her. "You're not doin' this alone."

"I _am_ alone, though," she insisted, seeing right through the thin veil of comfort in his words. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way. We were supposed to be together."

"We don't even know if . . ." He looked over helplessly at the bathroom door. It was open just a bit, the light from inside peeking through. They didn't even know if anything _was_ happening. Maybe it was all just a false alarm. A scare.

She sighed heavily and wrapped both arms around her stomach, and he wasn't sure whether it was because she nervous or because she was envisioning a baby in there. "You can go look now," she mumbled.

Great, so he had her permission. Although . . . suddenly, he didn't feel so eager to find out anymore. "You don't want to?" he asked. "We could do it together."

She shook her head fearfully. "I can't."

He let out a heavy breath, knowing that meant he had to. As petrified as he was feeling, he had to hold it together and go find out for her. For _them._ Find out if they were having a baby. Find out if he was going to be a dad.

"Okay." He reached over and put his hand on her leg, giving it a gentle squeeze, and much to his surprise, she let him.

He lumbered over to the bathroom, feeling like he was going in slow motion, just trying to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. It was all so familiar that he couldn't help but flash back to the last time he'd done this. He'd been an eighteen year old boy then, and Maria had been the girl who couldn't bear to look. But as naïve and as clueless as he'd been back then . . . he'd been something else, too: hopeful. He hadn't dreaded the thought of seeing a positive result on that test, and now he did. Three years later, when his life actually _was_ somewhat on track and he'd learned to be responsible . . . this was when the dread kicked in.

He swiped the testing strip off the sink and clasped his hand over the result window, terrified. It wasn't Sarah's fault that this was happening, and it wasn't like he didn't want it. He _wanted_ kids. Just . . .

He stood in the doorway, gulping hard, and slowly peeled his hand back from the results window, barely brave enough to even look down at it. His eyes flittered all around it but never quite focused on it until . . .

Until he couldn't not. He caught sight of one pink line. And then another. And he knew what that meant.

 _Pregnant._

It was positive, and positive was supposed to be a good thing.

He looked at Sarah, who couldn't seem to look at him. Her tear-filled eyes bore straight ahead at the wall.

In an instant, it was like the whole world fell away, and he couldn't even feel the floor under his feet or the test in his hand. His arms and legs felt numb, and his heart dropped into his stomach. He peered down at the test again to make sure he was seeing it right.

He was.

His throat felt dry, and no words came out. But apparently they weren't necessary. Sarah sat stiff as a board on the couch, thoroughly saturated in stress and anxiety, and she didn't even look over at him. But whether it was just a knowing feeling she had or a silence that said it all, she seemed to understand.

 _Pregnant._

She pressed her lips together tightly as they trembled, but eventually she just squeezed her eyes shut and started to cry. Her whole body crumpled in on itself, and her shoulders shook as the sobs poured out of her.

As if all the air had gone out of his lungs, he slumped against the doorframe, struggling to stay upright. He wanted to cry, just like Sarah was, but he didn't. He thought of Maria, and then he thought of Dylan . . . and then he _tried_ to think of something to say. As if the lump in his throat would allow him to say anything. Something supportive, maybe, something reassuring. Something to make Sarah feel like the world _wasn't_ ending, even though it seemed like it was.

But he had no idea what to say.

...

Max roamed through his house, alarmed by the silence. Without Dylan around, there was just no noise, no laughter. Nothing. It was crazy to think that all that shouting he and Maria had done could be reduced to this. And this . . . this was what Maria wanted for him. She wanted him to end up alone. Hell, her first instinct following their confrontation was to take Dylan and high-tail it out of there. Clearly she'd never be willing to share him. She thought she knew what was best for him; she thought she was the better parent.

She had No. Fucking. Clue.

He went out on his porch and whipped out his phone, dialing a number he hadn't bothered with in years, one he didn't even have programmed into his phone anymore but still knew by heart.

Three rings in, a gruff voice answered, "Hello?"

 _He must not have recognized my number,_ Max thought, swallowing his pride. "Hi, Dad."

His father didn't say anything for a moment, probably shocked as hell. They hadn't spoken since he'd gotten kicked out of college his sophomore year. Finally, though, he said, "Well, hello, son. It's been a while."

"A long while," Max agreed. Personally, he would have been content to draw it out a little longer, but circumstances had changed. Things were coming to a head, and he needed a powerful ally in his corner. "I hope you don't mind this isn't a social call. I need a favor."

"Of course you do," his dad grumbled. "What do you need?"

Max looked down the hall at the open door to Dylan's empty bedroom, fear surrounding what was left of his heart. "I need a lawyer."

...

Instead of being the one who couldn't sit still, Michael now could barely move. He sat on the couch with one leg up on the cushions, the other extended over to the coffee table while Sarah paced all around the living room, rattling off question after question, not one of which he had an answer for. She'd stopped crying, but now . . . she was just worked up.

"What're we gonna do, Michael?" she fretted. "I mean, this is, like, the worst thing that could happen."

 _You have no idea,_ he thought. This wasn't what was supposed to have happened today. "We'll figure it out," he said, struggling to keep coming up with assuring things to say to her. The more it sunk in that they'd created a child together, the more overwhelmed he felt.

"But we're not even together," she reminded him. "How are we gonna figure this out if we're not even . . ." She trailed off and gasped, obviously on the verge of another sobbing breakdown. "God, this is just . . . it isn't fair. I don't even know why . . . I mean, I was on the pill. I always took it."

"Nothin' works a hundred percent of the time," he mumbled, wishing he could go back in time and just put on a fucking condom. Then, chances were, this whole crisis could have been avoided. But no, he had to be a fucking moron.

"But it should've worked," she protested, shaking her head frustratedly. "We shouldn't . . . we shouldn't be having a _baby_. We're not ready for that."

 _You're not a kid anymore,_ Michael reminded himself. _You're an adult. You can handle this._

"Would you say something?" she demanded shrilly.

He rubbed his forehead, scraping the bottom of the reassurance barrel when he reused the same line he'd already said a dozen times that day. "It's gonna be alright."

"Not that."

"Why not?" It didn't hurt to put a little positive energy out there, did it? Not that he was feeling all that positive.

"You don't _know_ if it's gonna be alright," she bit out. "And even if you did, I wouldn't believe you."

 _Because you don't trust me,_ he recognized. And why would she? _Shit._ He'd fathered a child with a girl who didn't trust him anymore. "Look, this whole thing . . ." He stood up, muscles aching like he'd aged ten years in just one day. "It caught me off guard, alright?"

"Oh, and what, I was _so_ prepared for it?"

"No, I didn't . . ." He understood why she'd snap at him right now, but it was _really_ hard for him to be the calm one about all of this. "I'm tryin' my best here."

Her jaw shook as she tilted her head back to hold the tears in. "This can't be happening," she choked out. "I can't be pregnant. I just . . . god, I was gonna go home this summer and everything. And I was gonna transfer."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in alarm. "To Las Cruces?"

"Yeah, but now what do I do?"

 _You don't go,_ he thought, but he didn't want to seem like he was giving her an order. "We don't have to think about that right now," he said, but hell, he'd be thinking about it. Maybe these weren't the ideal circumstances to be having a kid, but he did _not_ want to be an absentee parent, just a name in a Christmas card.

"Michael, we _have_ to think about these things," she insisted. Every time she said _we,_ her voice wavered a bit, like she was struggling to think of them that way.

"I can't do this right now," he breathed out suddenly.

"And you think I can?"

It was too much, too much craziness to take in and deal with at once. Sarah needed him and Maria needed him, and he just felt like he didn't know what to do for either one of them. So he was failing them both. "I've got too much goin' on. I—I can't—there's too much! I can't even-"

"Why don't you just say it, Michael?" she cut in.

"Say what?"

She rubbed her stomach sadly, sniffing back tears. "You don't want this. You don't want this baby."

No, that wasn't it. His dad hadn't wanted him, and he refused to be anything like that. "Yeah, I do," he insisted, knowing that this could be the greatest thing that ever happened to him in the long run. It just didn't feel like that now.

"Not with me," she cried, fresh tears falling down her face. "You want it with Maria!"

His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't deny it. He didn't want to lie to her again, especially not when she so clearly already knew the truth.

When his phone rang, he wanted to smash it. Even if it was Maria calling. _Especially_ if it was her.

"Is that her?" Sarah asked.

He picked up his phone, surprised to see that it wasn't. "No, it's Isabel."

"Oh, is _she_ your girlfriend now, too?" Sarah snorted.

He ignored that, knowing he probably deserved it. Damn, he couldn't for the life of him come up with a reason for why she'd be calling, but hell, she'd probably just keep calling back if he didn't answer. So he did, but he didn't bother trying to be polite. "What?"

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, and when she did, all it was was a high-pitched, pathetic-sounding, "Michael?"

"Now's not a really a good time," he told her.

"No, please, don't hang up," she begged, " _please_!"

He rolled his eyes in annoyance and turned his back towards Sarah. "What do you want?"

She breathed in sharply and whimpered, "I'm scared."

"What're you talkin' about?" He was losing patience fast.

"I'm really scared, Michael."

"Then call your boyfriend," he suggested.

"No, I can't call him! I hate him!" she bleated.

 _Oh, fuck,_ he thought, wishing he'd never taken this call. He was so not the right person to listen to her relationship troubles, especially not given his own current problem. "I can't deal with this right now," he said, about to end the call.

"No, Michael, you don't understand!" she practically screamed.

"I'm hanging up."

"I feel like killing myself!"

His mouth dropped open in shocked silence, and at first, he thought maybe he'd heard her wrong. But then he remembered the pill incident earlier this year, and something told him this wasn't just a ploy for attention this time. She meant that.

"W-what?" he sputtered, not sure how to deal with this. "Isabel, what do you mean you . . ."

She just started crying. Or _kept_ crying, perhaps.

Shit, this wasn't good. He dug his hand through his hair, trying to think of what to do. "Okay, where are you?" he asked, figuring the most logical thing was just to get to her. Then at least he could try to talk her down face to face.

"At my house," she replied. "Alone."

Alone. That wasn't good. She couldn't be alone right now. He'd read enough psychology reports and had enough common sense to know that much. "Okay, just . . . just wait there, alright?" he instructed her. "I'll come get you."

No response.

" _Isabel._ " He just needed her to hang in there for ten minutes.

"I'll wait," she said.

"Okay, I'm on my way." He ended the call, pocketed his phone, and hurried towards the bed to find his keys.

"What's going on?" Sarah questioned.

"I gotta go." Dammit, where the hell had he put those keys? Not on the nightstand, not in the drawer.

"What? Michael!" she yelped.

He checked under his pillow, and for some reason, there they were. "I'll be back," he promised, brushing past her on his way to the door.

"No, you can't just leave me!" she cried, scurrying after him. "We have to deal with this."

He knew they did, and they would. Just not right now. "I'm sorry," he said, hoping she still knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't just take off without a good reason. "I have to go."

That downcast, confused look on her face made it so hard to walk out the door. But he did it anyway.


	83. Chapter 83

**Author's Note: Sorry for any confusion I may have caused by putting the word "Epilogue" at the top of the last chapter. Yes, it is the epilogue of the story, but the epilogue is 3 chapters long, meaning that this is the second-to-last update of the story, and the last one will be Chapter 84. Again, I do have a plan for a third story in the series. Due to some writer's block issues, I don't know how soon I will be able to post it, but it's in the works. ;)**

Michael broke a few speed limits on the way over to Isabel's—more than a few—and he managed to get there in eight minutes instead of ten. He wasn't sure what he would find when he got there, but he had horrible visions of her lying on the bathroom floor, not breathing, an empty bottle in her hand.

He'd just gotten out of the car and started for the door when she came out, looking . . . not great, but not unconscious, either. She had her purse with her and looked ready to go.

"You scared the hell outta me," he told her, relieved to see her looking pretty good. Maybe whatever had been upsetting her so much had passed.

Or maybe not, because just stared at him and didn't say anything.

"Come on, get in the car," he told her, putting his hand on her shoulder, gently urging her in front of him. She walked down the sidewalk like a zombie, completely out of it, completely despondent.

Obviously something was still very wrong, but he asked, "You alright?" as he drove towards campus, not quite sure where he was supposed to be taking her.

"No," she moaned.

"What happened?" The more he knew, the more he'd be able to help. Maybe.

"I don't wanna talk about it," she mumbled.

"You sure? 'cause I'm a counselor. Or at least I'm gonna be."

She set her purse on her lap and unzipped it, reaching inside lethargically. When she pulled her hand back out, he nearly slammed on the breaks.

"Holy _shit_ , Isabel!" he swore, eyes bugging out at the sight of the sleek black object she was holding. "What is that?"

Her voice was flat, emotionless. "Exactly what it looks like."

He'd never actually seen a handgun before, and this was way too close for comfort. "Put it down," he told her, worried she'd lift it up to her temple and just pull the trigger right in front of him.

She held it with two fingers like a dirty dishcloth and set it down on the backseat. "It's Jesse's," she explained. "He never uses it, though."

"But you were going to?" He couldn't believe it. Suicide was pretty unfathomable no matter what, but he'd never pictured Isabel resorting to something so . . . violent. Clearly he was out of his league here. She needed professional help, and he wasn't a professional yet. "Alright, listen, I'm gonna take you somewhere safe," he said, "and then I'm gonna get rid of that gun and you're never gonna think about it again. Got it?" He'd go chuck it out in the desert or something, somewhere she'd never find it.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"I don't know. You tell me." He'd drive her wherever she wanted to go, wherever she'd feel safe.

"There's nowhere," she lamented, sounding as if she'd given up.

"What?"

"There's nowhere for me to go." She wasn't being loud and hysterical or anything, but . . . it was more like a quiet kind of hysteria. Like any minute, she was going to become so overwrought with emotion that she twisted around in that seat, picked up the gun, and followed through with her plan.

"What about your friends?" he suggested. "Courtney?" That girl wasn't exactly the most stable influence, but if Isabel felt safe with her . . .

"She's not my friend," she grumbled.

 _Okay, so much for that idea,_ he thought, trying another one. "Your mom's?"

"No." She gazed out the window sorrowfully. "I'm not welcome there."

He sighed, contemplating a quick drive over to Chancellor Rehab. It wasn't just physical rehabilitation services they provided there. They had emotional counseling, too. But something told him she'd resist that, and he'd end up doing more harm than good by even attempting it.

"Can you just take me to your place?" she sniveled.

"No. No, you can't . . . you can't be there," he said. For all he knew, Sarah was still back there waiting for him, and at this point, Maria and Dylan had probably shown up. So that would be enough of a shit storm when he got home without her being there, too.

There _was_ one other option, and although it wasn't the most appealing to _him_ , it was probably the best thing possible for her right now. "Max."

She shook her head regretfully. "We're not close."

"But he wouldn't turn you away, right? I mean, he'd let you stay with him?" The guy was an ass, sure, but he was still her brother.

"Maybe," she said.

Well, maybe was something. In this case, it was as good as a yes. "Then that's where I'm takin' you," he decided, even though he dreaded showing his face there.

...

When Max heard a car pull up outside, he assumed it was Maria. _Maybe_ Liz if she'd decided to pull the plug on the Alan thing tonight. But when he looked out the window, what he saw was that same car that had been in his driveway a couple weeks ago, the same one he'd come home to after spending the weekend with Dylan in Roswell.

 _Unbelievable,_ he thought, balling his hands into fists. This guy had a lot of nerve to show his face here. Which gave Max the perfect excuse to pummel it.

...

Michael put the car in park and said, "Here you go," motioning to the house. He didn't mean to make it seem like he was just dropping her off and leaving her to fend for herself here, but . . . he really couldn't go any further.

"Please come with me," she pled.

 _Oh, that's really not a good idea,_ he wanted to say. But she just looked so helpless, like she wouldn't even make it up to the door if he didn't go with her.

 _Dammit._ He twisted the key in the ignition towards him and shut the car off, reluctantly climbing out.

He followed her up the driveway, keeping his hands in his pockets and his head down. It wasn't like he could just blend in with the surroundings or anything, but if he could just be as motionless and as wordless as possible, then maybe he'd get out of there without a confrontation.

Max opened the door and came out on the porch as they made their way to the house. He crossed his arms and grumbled, "What's this all about?"

Isabel glanced at Michael questioningly, but he just motioned for her to step forward and say something. She was quiet as a mouse when she said, "I need a place to stay."

"Why?" Max asked.

"Because I can't stay at home."

"Why not?"

She shifted uncomfortably, not answering. She wouldn't want to answer.

"Look, just let her stay here, alright?" Michael piped up against his better judgment. He didn't want to just stand there and listen to Max interrogate her, demand answers.

Max smiled at his sister, a sort of close-mouthed smirk. "Sure, Isabel, you can stay," he said, sounding overly cheerful. "In fact, come right in. Michael . . . you, too." That faux chipper expression morphed into a glare, but his tone left little room for debate.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Michael thought, meandering inside behind Isabel. This was not what he had anticipated at all this evening. In fact, nothing today had gone according to plan. He was supposed to be sitting at home with Maria and Dylan right now watching freakin' _Monsters, Inc.,_ not rescuing his ex-girlfriend from her own suicide attempt and conversing with his worst enemy.

"Thank you, Max," Isabel said once they were inside. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," he said. "That's what big brothers are for."

Michael felt like rolling his eyes at that. But he didn't.

"And thank _you_ ," Isabel added, turning to face him. She moved in close and hugged him, and he pretty much just stood there and let her.

"You saved me," she whispered in his ear as she pulled away.

Max, of course, could be counted on to ruin the moment. "Isabel, would you mind giving Michael and me a chance to talk?" he asked. But it wasn't really a question.

"Sure," she said, glancing back and forth inquisitively between the two of them. She slipped off into the hallway, though, ducked into the guest bedroom, and shut the door.

"Look, I know you're probably pissed at me," Michael started in, keeping his voice down.

"Pissed?" Max echoed. "That's one word for it."

"But what's goin' on with your sister is bigger than any of that. She called me twenty minutes ago, said she felt like killin' herself."

Max half-shrugged and said, "Hmm."

Michael huffed in disbelief, "What, is that not a big deal to you?"

"Maybe," Max said, though he didn't sound very fucking concerned. "But haven't we all felt like that from time to time?"

 _Like killing ourselves?_ Michael gave him a hard look. "No." No matter how bad the crap in his life got, he'd never been in _that_ dark of place. It wasn't normal. "Look, she needs help, alright? Maybe the same kind of help you _claim_ to have gotten. So help her. She's your sister, your responsibility." If it was his little sister who'd just nearly offed herself, he'd stop at nothing to do something for her.

This wasn't the place for him, though. Isabel needed a safe haven right now, some calmness, and her brother's house was the closest she was going to get to that. As long as Michael wasn't there to disrupt it. Knowing his presence would do more harm than good, he tried to turn and leave, but Max grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Hold on," he said. "We're not finished yet."

"Come on, give it a rest," Michael told him. "We can deal with our shit some other time."

"When?" Max growled. "Before or after Dylan starts calling you Dad?"

The way he said that was so filled with contempt, so filled with jealousy, that Michael couldn't help but give him something to be jealous about. "He never stopped," he informed him, letting that marinate as he spun around to try to leave again.

Once again, Max didn't let him go, though. This time, he jumped in front of him, blocking his progress to the door.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Fine, you wanna hash this out right now? Let's hash it out. I'm not sorry."

"You're not?" Max actually sounded surprised by that.

"No. Maybe Maria feels bad, maybe she apologized, but I'm not gonna. Not to you, Max. You don't deserve it." There were plenty of other people who get plenty of other sorries from him, but those people weren't jackasses.

"So I suppose I deserve a girlfriend who cheats on me then," Max said. "Is that it?" He chuckled angrily, stepping out of Michael's way. "You know, when I showed up in Roswell, I was the bad guy," he said. "I can accept that. And by all accounts, you were the good one. So how's it feel now that the tables have turned?"

"You think you're good?" Michael grunted. "Yeah, right. You may have everyone else fooled, but I know you haven't changed. You're still that sick, stoned motherfucker who kidnapped his own son and almost drove him off a bridge."

Max narrowed his eyes, countering, "And who are you, Michael? You're not exactly the good guy these days, either. I mean, good guys don't have affairs. Good guys don't cheat on Sarah Nguyen."

Michael tensed, uncomfortable even hearing her name come out of this prick's mouth.

"Was it worth it?" he asked. "Was it worth breaking her heart just to score some ass?" He grinned mockingly. "So to speak."

He thought of Sarah, of that heartbroken look on her face as he'd walked out of the apartment twenty minutes earlier, and for the first time . . . he wasn't sure if it was worth it. Knowing what he knew now, knowing they were going to be parents . . . that was what it took for his conscience to finally overpower his id and feel as guilty as he deserved to feel.

"Doesn't matter," Max dismissed. "She's better off without you anyway. She'll move on, find someone else, get married and have a few kids."

Michael winced inwardly, feeling like he'd robbed Sarah of that future.

"Oh, did I strike a nerve?" Max taunted.

"Go to hell," Michael muttered, struggling to keep his anger in check.

"Ooh, I did." Max's eyes gleamed, as he clearly took delight in eliciting that response. "You feel bad. And you should. You got so high on Maria's pussy, you didn't care who the hell you screwed over to get it."

 _No, I care,_ Michael thought. He would always care about Sarah. He just didn't give a flying fuck about Max.

"You probably wanna knock her up, huh? Stake your claim on her so she can't come crawling back to me?"

The fact that Max even assumed Maria _would_ crawl back was laughable, but making a joke about getting her pregnant wasn't. "She'll never go back to you, Max."

"Good. I don't want her," he claimed. "You two can ride off into the sunset and fuck your brains out for all I care. But I'll tell you one thing: You're not getting Dylan."

Michael made a face. "Who said anything about taking him?"

"Oh, it's obvious that's what you want. And I'm sure Maria does, too. She won't admit it—she'll act like she's cooperating at first, especially if we go to court—but ultimately, what she wants is for Dylan's last name to change."

Michael shrugged, not about to deny wanting that same thing. "Hmm, Dylan Guerin. Sounds good. A hell of a lot better than Dylan Evans ever would."

Max glared at him and shook his head.

"Face it, Max: You can't stand the fact that he likes me better than you. And Maria likes me better, too. That's gotta sting."

Clearly it did. Max shut his mouth for the first time, but it took all of two seconds for him to open it again. "You're right," he admitted, taking a step back, nodding slowly. "They do like you. But I don't know why."

Right now . . . he didn't know why, either. He felt like a total screw-up today, but . . . maybe tomorrow he'd feel better.

"I mean, it doesn't matter if you're goin' to college and gettin' scholarships and holding a job," Max continued ranting. "You're still just a loser. You're still going nowhere in life. And let's be real here . . . you're still bound to end up like your dad."

Michael's jaw tightened, and he almost lost it right there. He tried to talk himself down, though, to cool the white-hot rage. _It's not true,_ he thought. _It's not true._

"Think about that, Michael, the next time you're with Maria," Max urged, circling around him derisively. "Think about how you're gonna ruin her life."

He shook his head, repeating his mantra. _It's not true._

"Just like your dad ruined your mom's. Think about how he used to yell at her. That's how you're gonna yell at Maria."

"No," he said, trying to block him out.

Max kept circling, kept talking. "Think about all those times he got drunk just 'cause he hated you so much and didn't wanna deal with you. Is that how you're gonna hate Dylan?"

"Fuck you."

"Think about the time he tried to kill himself—yeah, Maria told me about that; she told me everything."

 _Don't let him get to you._

"Think about the time he actually _did_ kill himself."

It was starting to get to him.

"Think about all that, Michael, 'cause that's your future. That's you someday," Max menaced, getting right up in his face. "Think about that the next time you _claim_ you'll be a good father. Think about that the next time you _screw_ your _fucking whore_!"

Michael pulled his arm back and swung with all his might, slamming it into Max's face. He hit him with enough force to send him stumbling backward, but not enough to knock him down.

Max held his jaw, spitting out blood. Rather than looking intimidated, he just grinned excitedly. "Oh, I was _so_ hoping you'd do that," he seethed. Like a coiled spring, he shot forward, throwing his whole body's weight against Michael, pushing him back against the door. Michael's head hit hard, and he swore in pain but pushed right back. He tried to punch him again, but Max ducked out of the way this time, lowered his elbow, and jammed it into Michael's stomach.

"Oh!" he cried as pain shot through his abdomen. He doubled over, staggering as he tried to remain upright, and Max grabbed his head with both his hands and threw it back against the door again.

Memories of their last fight like this flooded him, and he knew he'd lost that one. He wasn't gonna lose this time. He was going to beat this guy down so hard, what was left wouldn't even look like him.

When Max's tried to hit him, Michael jerked his left hand up, grabbing his fist and stopping him. It took all the strength he could muster to push back against Max's force, and eventually he just flung his right foot out, sending Max flying across the living room with a swift kick to the gut.

He stalked forward, more than willing to do some damage. Why not? Even though they hadn't thrown down like this for three years, the fight between them had never stopped.


	84. Chapter 84

Having caught the gist of their argument, Isabel had pretty much anticipated that things would quickly escalate to blows. They'd both been egging each other on, and given the whole Maria factor, it seemed inevitable. But it sounded _brutal_ out there. So brutal that she was actually a little bit afraid to leave that guestroom.

She heard Max shout something, and then Michael bellowed something back, and she couldn't just sit there and do nothing any longer. The minute she opened the door, though, Michael went crashing down the hallway as if he'd been thrown, landing on the floor with a thud.

"Oh my god!" she gasped. "Are you okay?"

He completely ignored her and clamored back to his feet, charging back out into the living room like a bull in a cage.

"Yeah, that's right!" Max blasted. "Come at me, you son of a bitch!"

Isabel slinked down the hallway, wincing with the sound of every punch. She wasn't sure who was hitting who at this point, but it sounded like it hurt.

When she peeked around the corner into the living room, her curiosity turned into legitimate fear. They were both going at each other so hard that it literally looked like something choreographed in an action movie. There was blood on both their faces already, and things around the living room were starting to break.

"Stop it!" she yelled, but neither one of them heard her. Max grabbed Michael by the collar and held him steady as he swung and hit him, and then Michael returned the favor by punching him in the gut.

"You guys, stop!" she tried again, but it was no use. She didn't want to get involved, but she didn't have much of a choice when Max grabbed Michael and threw him down on the ground. He sat down on top of him and just started pummeling him, punch after punch after punch. It was constant.

"Max, don't!" She interjected herself into the fray, trying to grab hold of her brother's shoulders and pull him off, but he jerked his elbow back into her leg, shoving her away.

"Don't touch her!" Michael growled, and seconds later, he'd flipped their positions, and he was the one making Max's face look like a paint canvas again.

"Oh my god." She raced back into the bedroom, partially for her own safety, but mostly because she just felt powerless. They were too big, too strong. If they didn't decide to stop on their own, she wouldn't be able to make them stop. She needed help.

She couldn't call Jesse, so she called the only other person who came to mind. He wasn't a fighter by any means, but he'd know what to do. He'd know how to fix this.

Thankfully, he answered this time. "Hello?"

"Oh, Alex, thank God. Thank God," she gasped, wincing when she heard Michael yell out in pain. "They're hurting each other! They won't stop!"

"Who?" he asked. "What's going on?"

She found herself crying, worrying that they were going to go too far, that one of them was going to seriously injure the other while she just stood back and watched. "You have to help me," she wailed. "I don't know what to do!"

...

Dylan laughed at the cartoon on TV. Maria might have laughed, too, if she'd been paying any attention at all to what they were watching.

"Hold on, slow down," she could hear Alex saying from the kitchen. "Tell me what's happening."

She cast a curious glance back over her shoulder, catching glimpses of him pacing back and forth worriedly. Something wasn't right. With Liz, maybe? She hoped not.

"Okay, just try to get 'em to stop," he said. "Call the cops if you have to. I can be there in ten minutes."

Maria bristled. _The cops?_ What was going on?

Alex reentered the living room a moment later, an urgency to his movements as he quickly put on his shoes again.

Maria untangled herself from Dylan and got up off the couch. "What was that all about?" she asked him quietly.

"That was Isabel."

She looked at him questioningly, wanting more info than that.

He sighed, pulling her further away from Dylan and closer to the front door. "She says Michael's over at your house right now."

"What?" Why would he go over there?

"He and Max are fighting."

"Fighting?" she echoed.

"Yeah, like physically. I have to go help."

 _Oh my god._ Panic gripped her, and she quickly slid on her sandals. "I'm coming with you."

"Maybe you shouldn't," he suggested. "We don't even know why they're fighting."

"It's about me," she blurted, knowing without a doubt. "I'm going."

"What about him?" Alex asked, motioning to Dylan. "He can't be there for that."

She glanced back at her sweet, innocent little boy, who was laughing so hard at the cartoon now that he was practically rolling around on the couch. He'd already witnessed the two most important men in his life come to blows once, but thankfully he didn't remember it. They couldn't count on that same luck this time. "Can you stay here with him?" she requested, figuring it would be best for him to just keep watching TV, oblivious to what was going on.

"I can't just let you go into that alone," Alex said. "And I can't leave Isabel to fend for herself. She called me. She needs me."

Why the hell was Isabel even there? She didn't know, and right now, she didn't care. "Fine, then come with me," she told him. "Take Isabel and Dylan somewhere safe until this all blows over. I'll sort this out with Max and Michael."

He groaned, as if he didn't like the sound of that idea.

"Alex . . ." If she didn't do something, then she'd just be stuck picturing what was happening in her mind. And right now, it wasn't a pretty picture. "I can't just sit here."

He exhaled heavily, giving in. "Alright, let's go," he said.

"Dylan, come on, we're leaving," she announced.

"Aw . . ." Dylan whined, got down from the couch, and shut the TV off, sulking towards the door.

"Hurry," she told him, slipping on his shoes for him. She didn't even really bother tying them before trying to get him out the door.

"Wait, my football!" he hollered, darting back into the bedroom.

"Dylan . . ." They really didn't have time for this.

He came back out a few seconds later, clutching it tightly to his chest, and then scampered out the door.

"When we get there, stay outside with him. Make sure he doesn't see anything," Maria cautioned.

"You think it's that bad?" Alex asked.

It was Max and Michael. It was years of animosity reaching a boiling point. "I know it's that bad."

...

Michael had been tackled out on the football field hundreds of times. But this was different. This felt like being tackled over and over and _over_ again, relentlessly, and it hurt ten times worse.

He felt himself being lifted up, and seconds later, Max slammed him down on the kitchen table. He felt a volt of pain shoot up his back, followed by the painful impact of Max's fists. He swung wildly, beating on him like he was a punching bag. Michael tried to hold his arms up in front of his face as a shield, but it did little to no good. Several blows still landed, and they landed hard.

Pushing his legs out, he managed to kick him backward hard enough that he stumbled. Michael got up, feeling more than a little dizzy, barely able to keep his balance. He swung, missed, and then swung again. And that time he connected. Max head whipped to the side, and blood shot out of his mouth. He didn't go down, so Michael hit him again, a right hook right to the side of the head.

"Is that all you got?" Max taunted, grabbing him by the arm. He flung him around to the counter, and Michael crashed into it face first, howling in agony.

When he caught sight of sharp knife lying on the counter, that was when he _really_ let himself feel afraid. If they kept going like this . . . what if Max decided to use that knife? It already seemed like he'd gone off the deep end.

Max spun him around solely for the purpose of pounding on him so more. He delivered repeated punches to his abdomen, and even though Michael tried to tighten his stomach muscles and turn to the side to absorb the blows there, it didn't help the pain. He was getting his ass kicked and he knew it.

"Come on, Michael, _fight back_!" Max roared, bending his knees to give him more momentum as he slammed an uppercut into Michael's jaw. It felt like his whole head was about to break right off.

"I said fight back!" Grabbing both his shoulders, Max tossed him onto the floor, then stomped back over to the table.

 _Oh, shit,_ Michael thought, spitting up blood as he tried to crawl away. What the hell had he gotten himself into here? This wasn't like last time. Max wasn't high on drugs right now; the only thing he was under the influence of was his own rage. And that was what was so terrifying.

"You're not so tough now, are you?" Max bellowed.

Michael knew he had to get up, so he struggled to his feet, holding his stomach. Plenty of things inside were probably already broken, and if they kept this up . . .

"Shit!" he swore, ducking into the hallway right as Max threw a chair at him. It smashed against the wall and fell apart. This guy was losing it.

"Michael!" he heard Isabel whimper loudly. She stood into the doorway to the guest bedroom, hands clutched in prayer over her mouth. "You guys have to stop!"

He stared at her helplessly. Yeah, he knew that. But her brother didn't.

Max came charging at him then, barreling down the hallway, yelling. Isabel yelped as they flew right past her, and Michael cried out in anguish as Max slammed him back against the door to the master bedroom. There was a full length mirror on it that shattered the instant he hit, and he could feel tiny shards of glass pricking his arms and back.

"Max, stop!" Isabel cried. But of course he didn't.

Summoning all the strength he had left, Michael blocked one of the punches and landed one of his own, one strong enough to knock Max back, send him staggering. He tumbled further down the hallway, and his head hit the wall. He fell to his hands and knees.

The taste of blood in Michael's mouth was so strong now, like a warning. When he glanced down at his side, he noticed a gash there, already pooling with thick crimson.

"Call 911," he told Isabel, barely able to get the words out before Max got up and lunged forward again. This time, she was in his path, so Michael jumped in front of her and pushed her out of the way, back into the bedroom. Max landed another punch to his head, one that nearly bowled him over this time.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, struggling to stay upright. If this didn't end soon, it wasn't going to end well for either of them.

...

Maria glanced in her rearview mirror, making sure Alex was still following along behind her. Good, he was, even though she was moving pretty fast. She was on a mission to make every green light, and if they were yellow, she planned to make those, too.

"Mommy?" Dylan asked from the backseat. He hadn't called her that in a long time. It was usually just _Mom_ now. _Mommy_ had been a younger thing.

"What is it, sweetie?" she asked, glancing down at her phone to see if Michael had called. Or maybe even Isabel. Anyone to let her know what was going on. They hadn't.

"I—I wanna go home," he sputtered. "Are we goin' home?"

She winced, wishing she knew where home even was anymore. "Just for a little bit," she told him. "But you're not gonna go inside." God, how had things deteriorated so fast today that their own house had become the most dangerous place for him to be?

"What's goin' on?" he asked. He may have been little, but he wasn't an idiot. He obviously knew something wasn't right.

"You're gonna hang out with Aunt Liz's friend Alex tonight," she told him. "And your Aunt Isabel. You remember her, right?"

"Kinda," he mumbled.

"You're gonna be with her." The irony of Isabel Evans of all people being a potentially _stabilizing_ force in Dylan's life right now was certainly not lost on her.

"What about Dad?" he asked.

She blinked back tears. What was Dylan's dear old dad doing right now, exactly? Either getting beat down or doing the beating, or maybe some combination of the two. He and Michael both should have known better than to get into _another_ fistfight. Why couldn't they just handle things like adults for once? Hopefully this wasn't as bad as the fight on the bridge had been. Maybe they would have even managed to calm themselves down by the time she got there.

Or maybe it was worse this time. For some reason . . . she had a feeling it was worse.

"Mom!" her son yelled at her impatiently. "What about Dad?"

"Dylan, I . . ." She pressed down harder on the gas pedal, zipping through another green light. "I don't know, okay?"

He started to cry and kicked the back of her seat. "I want Dad!" he yelled.

"He's not here, Dylan."

He yelled louder.

"Look, just calm down, okay?" she told him, accelerating even more as the traffic light in front of her shone yellow. "Everything's gonna be fine. Just-"

The blare of a car horn filled her ears, and suddenly, she felt an impact. Her whole body jerked and jostled, hands still clutching the steering wheel as their vehicle went into the air. She didn't have time to scream, but she heard her son scream. And then there was just blackness.

...

"And what's the address of the house, ma'am?"

"I don't-" Isabel grimaced when she heard Michael cry out in pain from the living room. "I don't know!" She ran out into the hallway, sickened to see Max on top of him in the middle of the living room now, still landing punch after punch. Michael wasn't even fighting back anymore. It was like he had nothing left.

She stepped out onto the porch and checked the number on the side of the house. "1522," she said shakily. "1522 Ridge Road." The 911 operator didn't repeat it back to her to confirm that she had it correctly. In fact, there was just silence. "Hello?" she said. "Hello?" When she lowered her phone from her ear, she saw that the screen was dark. Battery dead.

"No, no, no!" she whimpered, bursting into tears again. She threw her phone out into the front lawn and ran back inside, still trying to help.

"Stop it, Max, you're killing him!" she wailed, tugging on her brother's shoulders. But he just shrugged her off like she was a fly or something.

She didn't stop trying to remove him, even though she knew it was useless; but the longer she stood there pulling on him, trying in vain, the more she knew she had to do something more. Because if she didn't, then the very man who had just saved her life today was going to die. His face was covered in blood, and his eyes were halfway shut.

Her feet moved almost on their own, it seemed, back outside to the car. She ran to it so fast she nearly fell against it, gasping for air. She opened the back door and took a long, hard look at the object in the backseat.

...

There were sounds, noises, just faint ones. It was like everything was muffled, and she couldn't distinguish one sound from another.

Maria struggled to open her eyes. Each lid felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. And her head was throbbing. She smelled smoke, too, all around her.

At first, she couldn't even make out what she was seeing, and she didn't know where she was. She just saw broken glass in front of her. Lots of it.

Gradually, she realized she was upside down, still in her car, her seatbelt holding her in place. Her hair hung wildly around her head, and some of it was sticky with blood.

 _Oh god,_ she thought. _Dylan?_

She tried to groan or make some sound, but even that was too painful.

With a great deal of effort, she was able to turn her head to the side and look out at the pavement. She saw dozens of different pairs of shoes coming towards her, and in between their legs, she saw another car lying overturned. And in it, hanging upside down in the same way she was, was Alex, his eyes shut, arms dangling.

Fear trickled down her spine, and she tried to turn herself around to check on her son. Her body felt like it was locked in place, though, and her vision was blurring. "Dylan?" she choked out, noticing flashing red and blue lights in the distance. She tried to reach back for him, but she was all disoriented being upside down, and it wasn't getting any easier to keep her eyes open.

 _Stay awake,_ she told herself, needing to see her son, or to hear something from him. "Dylan?" It didn't matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open, though, because eventually, they fell shut.

...

None of the hits hurt anymore. Michael shut his eyes and just took it, waiting for it to be over. It had to be over soon.

When he felt Max's forearm press against his throat, though, his eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air. Every ounce of strength left in his body fought back, trying to breathe. He moved around as much as he could, but it was no use. The face hovering above was so blood-covered and twisted with rage that it didn't even look human anymore, and the arm on his windpipe became two hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing tightly.

He couldn't . . . he couldn't _breathe._

Faces rushed through his mind: _Tina, Joe, his mother, even Nicholas. Kyle and Tess, all his friends. Sarah. The pregnancy test._

He flailed desperately, trying to push Max away. But he just wasn't strong enough.

 _Maria and Dylan._ _Maria and Dylan. Maria._

Just as his vision was starting to darken, he saw Isabel come back inside the house. She lifted up the gun, aimed it at Max, and screamed as she pulled the trigger.

The hands around his neck immediately loosened, and the fury drained from Max's eyes. He sat back as blood started to gush from his chest, soaking into his shirt. He looked down at his wound in horror, then looked over at his shoulder at Isabel.

Her mouth dropped open, and the gun shook in her hand as she lowered it.

Max's eyes rolled back into his head as he tilted to the side and landed on the floor with a thud, right next to Michael, blood still pouring from his body, pooling up on the carpet now. Michael stared at him in disbelief, halfway expecting him to just get back up. But he didn't move a muscle this time.

He looked up at Isabel, who was still as a statue now, wide eyes locked on her brother's body.

His heart beat like a drum, and air burned through his lungs as she dropped the gun to the floor.

THE END


End file.
